


The Wedding Planner

by smartgirlsaremean



Series: The Wedding Planner [1]
Category: Once Upon a Time (TV), The Wedding Planner - Fandom
Genre: Also Neal and Emma are there, Alternate Universe - Non-Magical, Alternate Universe - Wedding Planner, Bride!Belle, F/M, Like always in my stories, Shady Blue Fairy is Shady, Wedding Planner!Gold
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-05-15
Updated: 2018-01-15
Packaged: 2018-11-01 01:10:21
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 12
Words: 33,549
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10911228
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/smartgirlsaremean/pseuds/smartgirlsaremean
Summary: Wedding planner Alan Gold doesn't have much faith in romance, and little to none in marriage. A chance encounter with sweet librarian Belle French has him almost reconsidering his beliefs until he receives a nasty shock: she's the bride in the most important wedding of his career.Voted Best Movie AU in the 2018 TEAs





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Yeah, I know, I needed another work in progress like I needed another hole in the head. But this idea has been poking at me for weeks, and it wouldn't leave me alone until I gave it a shot.
> 
> I guess you could consider this a spiritual remix of the OTHER story I wrote in which Gold designs Belle's wedding dress. But I just really love Gold as a designer, okay? Rumple should totally design everyone's clothes because he's great at it.

“What is the problem in here?”

There was a rustle of silk and lace as the woman in front of the mirror turned to stare with wide, panicked eyes at the slight figure in the doorway. Her lips trembled and tears shone in her eyes, threatening to fall and ruin her mascara.

“A moment, please,” the man said coolly, his eyes fixed on the bride.

“I’m sorry, Mr. Gold,” she whimpered, “I can’t. I can’t go through with it.”

“Miss Boyd,” he sighed, stepping forward and handing her a snow-white handkerchief, “that is utter nonsense.”

“No, it isn’t,” she insisted, dabbing lightly at her eyes. “I can’t go out there. I just can’t. This is a huge mistake, I’m gonna marry the wrong guy!”

The stern lines of his face softened, and Mr. Gold stepped closer and crooked a finger under her chin. “Look at me,” he said firmly. Reluctantly she looked up and into his eyes, and he stepped back a bit and folded his hands over the handle of his cane.

“You are exquisite,” he said matter-of-factly. “You’re _timeless_. You are the envy of every woman here today.” His mouth quirked a bit at the corners. “And you ought to be, in that dress, even if I do say so myself.”

Ashley sniffed and rolled her eyes.

“And you have the love of a man named Sean, who last night at the rehearsal dinner, said to me, ‘I can’t believe she picked me. I can’t believe I’m marrying the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen.’ Your marriage isn’t just going to work. It’s going to last forever.”

Lips trembling, Ashley smiled. “Really?”

“Oh, yes. You see, the two of you share something that doesn’t come along every day. True love. And true love, you know, lasts a lifetime.”

Ashley closed her eyes and took a deep breath. “You’re right. I know you’re right.” She opened her eyes again and smiled brightly. “Thank you, Mr. Gold.”

“Of course, my dear. My pleasure.” He pocketed the handkerchief when she held it out to him. “Let’s get you married, shall we?”

* * *

The nave of the church was bustling with activity. Mr. Gold strode calmly toward the head of the aisle, waylaying the priest, who was making a bid for the bathroom, and redirecting guests and attendants like a particularly soft-spoken drill sergeant.

“Stop flirting, Bucket,” he growled at his assistant, “and head over to section M-20, there’s a dark tower blocking the video feed.”

Rolling his eyes, the tall man pushed away from the column on which he’d been leaning and loped to the section indicated and the woman with the impressive beehive updo. As Gold moved on, he heard Jefferson blathering about preferred seating and special guests, and when he looked back at the monitor the feed was clear.

“Alright, everyone,” he murmured into his lapel mic. “Places. Cut the fill lights. Maestro on three.”

“Excuse me, Mr. Gold,” one of the underlings whispered, his eyes wide with fright. “We can’t find the father of the bride.”

“Thank you.” Gold pressed his earpiece. “Bucket, send Mr. Boyd over.”

“Uh...I did, Rumple. Ten minutes ago.”

Oh, that wasn’t good.

Gold set off, his face a calm mask. He stopped the flower girl, who had begun to walk, and asked her to count to ten and begin again. Moving deeper into the depths of the church, he followed the slight echoes of a man singing and finally came across Mr. Boyd, who was drunk as a skunk and singing lullabies to no one.

“I’ve got him. West staircase,” he muttered for Bucket to hear.

Setting his cane to one side, Gold knelt and pulled a tin of mints and a bottle of cologne out of his inside jacket pocket.

“My little girl is getting married today,” the man slurred.

Gold straightened the man’s tie and buttoned his tuxedo jacket, pulling him into a seated position.

“I remember the day she graduated from nursery school…”

Gold popped two of the mints into Mr. Boyd’s mouth and misted him with two sprays of cologne.

“...like it was yesterday…”

With quick, practiced strokes Gold ran a comb through the man’s disheveled hair. Mr. Boyd blinked blearily at him.

“Who are you?”

“The wedding planner,” Gold snapped. “And _you_ are about to be late to your daughter’s wedding.”

“Nice save, Rumple,” Bucket said, appearing behind him. “Need some help?”

“Please.” Gold stood aside, leaning on his cane again as the larger man hooked his arms under Mr. Boyd’s and hauled him up.

“Now, then, sir,” he said, placing himself directly in the man’s line of vision. “You will walk smoothly and slowly down that aisle. You will place your daughter’s hand in her groom’s, you will kiss her cheek, and then you will _sit. Down._ You will not shout, sob, or vomit. Quiet tears, proud smiles, and gentle sniffles are acceptable. Do I make myself quite clear?”

“Not a very nice wedding planner, is he?” muttered Mr. Boyd as Jefferson led him away.

Bucket shrugged and winked at Gold over his shoulders. “He does throw a nice wedding, at least.”

From there, the wedding went off without a hitch. Gold watched it all from a balcony above. When the young couple pledged to be together as long as they both shall live, he fought hard not to roll his eyes. “Eighteen months,” he muttered to himself. “At most.”

* * *

“Boom. Earwax. Seventy-two points.” Emma Gold grinned at her father-in-law and shot him the cheesiest finger guns he’d ever seen. “I am _creaming_ you, Gold.”

“Challenge. ‘Earwax’ is two words.”

“Nope. It’s one. Don’t be a sore loser.”

Gold grumbled as Emma chose new tiles and studied the board. Neal came in from tucking Henry into bed and looked over his wife’s shoulder at the scorecard. He whistled. “Jeez, Papa, she’s slaughtering you. How can you possibly lose this badly at Scrabble? You know more words than anyone I know.”

“That’s his problem,” Emma pointed out. “He tries to find the most obscure or rare word, he doesn’t think about points or placement on the board. He has no strategy.”

“It’s preposterous that she can beat me with words like ‘axe’ and ‘finger,’” Gold complained good-naturedly. “There should be points for originality.”

“Should be. Could be. Aren’t,” Emma said cheerfully. “Play your word or switch out your tiles.”

Gold grumbled under his breath as he dumped the entire tray of tiles into the bag and fished out new ones, and Neal lowered himself to sit next to his wife on the floor. “How’s the biz?” Neal asked as Gold scowled at his tiles.

“Same as ever.”

“I saw pictures of the Herman-Boyd wedding in the society pages,” Emma said. “She looked amazing. Was that dress one of yours?”

“A Gold original. It _was_ one of my better efforts.”

“She looked like a real-life Disney princess. Is she getting a fairy-tale happy ending, too?”

“I suppose that depends on Mr. Herman,” he muttered, finally settling on a word and laying it on the board.

Neal snorted. “‘Naiad’? Seriously? What’s a naiad?”

“It’s a water nymph,” Emma told him. Off Gold’s raised eyebrows, she grew indignant. “What? I know things!” She chucked a tile at her husband when he laughed.

“It’s a shame you only ever plan other people’s weddings,” Neal said offhandedly.

Gold groaned and resisted the urge to roll his eyes. It had been nearly six months since the last time they had this conversation, so he supposed they were due.

“Don’t be such a grump,” Emma scolded him. “We just want you to be happy.”

“I am happy,” Gold growled.

“Yeah, you just radiate joy and contentment,” Neal scoffed.

Gold shook his head and softened his voice. “I _am_ happy, son. I have you and Emma and Henry, and that’s all I need.”

“But you don’t always have us. After this you go home and...what? Drink whiskey alone? Watch _Say Yes to the Dress_ until you fall asleep on the couch? Don’t you want something more?”

“There’s more to my life than wedding planning. Sometimes I watch _American Pickers_.”

“Well that explains why your place is such a dumping ground for junk,” Emma muttered, exchanging a few tiles.

“I beg your pardon? Nothing in my house is junk.”

“Right, sorry. _Antiques_.”

“ _All I’m saying_ ,” Neal said, poking Emma in the side, “is that it might be nice for you to get out a little more. Go to a wine tasting or a flea market or...y’know...anywhere you might have to talk to other people.”

“That sounds terrible.”

“Online dating then.”

Gold shuddered as he laid down a new word. “That sounds worse.”

“Give him a break,” Emma said, adding up his score. “He’s already losing spectacularly, no need to call attention to the other failures in his life.”

“Thank you, Emma.”

“Any time, Pops.”

* * *

Contrary to what Neal and Emma believed, Gold did not live like a monk. He’d had relationships before. Well. The one, besides Neal’s mother. Both relationships had ended badly. He saw no reason to try again, not when he already had a family he loved. All he was really missing now was someone to nag and needle him, and since he had Jefferson Bucket, he didn’t really need to look elsewhere for that either.

“You’re late,” Bucket said now as Gold stepped off the elevator.

“I am not.”

“Oh. Then maybe I’m early. I did drink three cups of coffee this morning.” Jeff was fairly bouncing on the soles of his shoes and Gold rolled his eyes. “So are you gonna tell her now? She’s in a good mood. It should be now.”

Gold limped across the lobby of Fairy Tale Weddings, stopping dead when he saw a young woman sobbing on a couch. Her face was a horrible blotchy orange-red. “What happened here?” he asked.

“Self-tanning lotion gone wrong,” one of the associates whispered. “The wedding’s tomorrow.”

Shaking his head, Gold whipped out a handkerchief and handed it to the young woman. “Dry your tears. Quarter cup of lemon juice, half a cup of salt, and a loofah sponge. You’ll be good as new.”

“Thank you,” the bride whimpered, handing him back his handkerchief.

“Your linen bill must be enormous,” Jefferson said. “Do you even use those things yourself?”

“Alan! Congratulations on the Herman-Boyd wedding.” Esther Blue had appeared seemingly from nowhere, the scent of lavender hanging about her like a cloud. She was a handsome woman about Gold’s own age, her features sweet and delicate and her voice melodic and smooth. Few people knew the ruthlessness that lurked beneath her impeccably tailored suits and dresses (blue, always blue, as if she felt she needed to live up to her name). “Stefan!” She reached out to pluck a flower from the midst of a bouquet that was passing by in the arms of the florist. “If you ever use a carnation in an arrangement again, I’ll have you deported. Where was I?” She turned back to Gold.

"You were congratulating me on my superb work performance,” he said drily.

“Oh yes! Yes, well done. You’re easily my best planner.”

Behind him Jefferson squeaked and poked a finger into his back, and Gold scowled. “I’m well aware of that. That’s why I thought it was time for us to have a little talk.” He glared over his shoulder, and Jefferson scurried away.

“Oh?”

“This caught my eye two days ago.” He pulled out the newspaper he’d been carrying under his arm and handed it to her as they walked the halls. “The Lefleur-French wedding. I’ve already made initial contact, and it’s a promising prospect. The Lefleurs are new money, determined to see their son and heir married in style. The Frenches have money too, of course, but it’s neither as extensive nor as recently obtained, and they’re not very socially visible. The Lefleurs are determined to gain their son entry to the top social circles in the city, and this wedding is the first step.”

"An announcement, but no engagement photo. That's unusual."

Gold shrugged. "Again, the Frenches keep more or less to themselves. I don't think I've ever seen them in the society pages."

“Hmm. You have a meeting set up?”

"Tonight. They’re coming to the Delmar-Fisher wedding to observe my work.”

Esther nodded and stepped into her office. Gold followed her and shut the door, and she raised her eyebrows. “Something else?”

“Yes. I’m going to make this deal, and when I do - when the Lefleurs sign away a year’s income to marry their boy to his little trophy wife - we’re done.”

Esther froze. “Oh, are we?”

“I’ve more than paid you back. I bring in more revenue than all of your planners together.”

“And what do you plan to do if I release you from your contract? This is all you’ve known, the only trade you have, and you’re a little old to start over.”

“My designs are getting more attention. Half of yesterday’s article was about the Boyd girl’s wedding dress. Perhaps I’ll open a shop. I’d offer you a generous discount, of course,” he added with a dry smile.

“You wouldn’t be considering opening your own agency, by any chance?”

“Of course not,” he exclaimed gently, pressing one hand to his chest. “I’m offended that you could think such a thing.”

“Very well,” she said after a moment’s consideration. “If you can deliver the Lefleur contract, we will revisit your own.”

“Oh, no, dearie. We’ll ‘revisit’ nothing. You’ll release me.”

They stared at each other for a long moment before Esther sighed slightly. “Very well.”

“Excellent. Pleasure doing business with you.”

He left the office, letting out the breath he’d been holding as he waited for her answer, and nearly jumped out of his skin when he rounded a corner and came face-to-face with Jefferson.

“So? How’d it go?”

“You’re going to kill me one of these days,” Gold complained.

“Sorry. What did she say?”

“She said yes. One more wedding, Bucket, and I’m free of this place forever.”

“You’ll take me with you?”

Gold chuckled and shook his head. “I wouldn’t be able to pay you nearly as much as she does.”

“Who cares? Shorter hours, better work environment, and I can spend more time with Grace. I’m not so bad with a needle myself, y’know.”

Gold thought about that. The man made all of his own and his daughter’s clothes, and while his style was unique, his workmanship was flawless. “Alright. I’ll think about it.”

“Splendid! Now let’s go pluck us a flower!”


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Gold meets someone interesting.

“The wooden ducks on this table are a Korean symbol of marriage and domestic bliss. The story is that the ducks face each other when the husband and wife are in agreement, and they face away during times of discord. It’s my hope that your ducks may always face each other, not because there will be no trouble or disagreement in your marriage, but…”

Gold murmured into his lapel mic, pausing every few moments to allow the best man time to repeat his words aloud. “...because I believe you have the strength and courage…to face each other always...through sickness and health...wealth and poverty…harmony and strife…May you anticipate that each day...will be better than the last...and rejoice each night...for the promise of tomorrow...and the fulfillment of your vows to each other. Raise up your glass.”

“Congratulations, you guys!” the young man cheered; he drained his glass and the wedding guests followed suit.

“You just fed the best man his speech,” someone chuckled from behind him, and Gold turned to see a tall, dark-haired young man lurking by the open door. “Very smooth.”

“We’re not all natural orators,” Gold said with a smirk. “Mr. Lefleur, I presume.”

“That’s me.” Lefleur stepped forward and wrung Gold’s hand in an unnecessarily tight handshake. “Pretty fancy shindig you threw here.”

“Glad you approve.” Gold glanced behind the boy and raised his eyebrows. “Won’t Miss French be joining us?”

“Yeah, she called to say she’s running late. Might not make it, but she’s gonna try.”

Odd, but it wasn’t the first time one of the party was less than interested in the details of planning. More often than not the disinterested party was the groom, but not all women grew up dreaming of the perfect wedding day. Perhaps Miss French was a more practical sort.

“Come on, my parents want to meet you. They’re footing the bill, after all.”

The elder Lefleurs stood off to one side, and Gold sized them up in his mind. Pretentious, without knowing what the word meant. Proud, but desperate for approval. Not yet quite sure what the difference was between elegance and ostentation, and not likely to care when they discovered it. Yes, they were new money in every sense of the word.

He rather liked them.

“Mr. Gold, these are my parents, Nathalie and Thibault.”

“A pleasure,” Mr. Lefleur said. He looked Gold up and down. “I thought we were meeting the planner.”

“That you are, sir. I am the wedding planner.”

Mrs. Lefleur’s eyes narrowed. “Aren’t planners usually women?”

“I’ll admit I’ve never run the numbers. I do know that I am very good at what I do.”

Jefferson bounced up to him at that moment. “Rumple, the belly dancer’s here and she has the most delectable…”

“Mr. and Mrs. Lefleur, my associate Jefferson Bucket.”

“Ah, how do you do!” Bucket tipped his hat. “Your servant, of course.”

“You called him ‘Rumple’?” Mrs. Lefleur asked. “I thought his name was Gold.”

“Ah, yes, but you see our friend here is akin to Rumpelstiltskin of yore. He can make an event out of any wedding, like spinning straw into gold. He’s a bit of a craftsman himself, of course.”

“Mr. Gold makes wedding dresses, too,” Gaston told his parents. “Izzy’s crazy about his stuff.”

Both Lefleur parents were looking at him oddly, now, as if he’d suddenly turned green before their eyes but they weren’t sure if they were intrigued or repulsed. “You can see a sample of my work there,” he said helpfully, indicating the bride’s elaborate princess gown, “but, ah, that really is a topic best left between myself and the bride.”

“Right, of course. Izzy will definitely be in charge of her dress.”

Gold frowned, but said nothing.

“So what are you thinking for this wedding?” Mr. Lefleur asked. “Go on, dazzle us.”

“Well, without having met the bride, it’s very difficult to say,” Gold said cautiously. “But off the top of my head, I’m thinking...a garden. The botanical gardens, perhaps, at sunset, with the faint scent of roses in the air. An archway, white chairs on either side of a white satin aisle runner strewn with rose petals. At the reception, glass-topped tables with votives, white and pink with accents of dark blue and black, a served meal rather than a buffet. Elegance and sophistication - a large affair with the illusion of intimacy, no more than six to a table. Harp music for the ceremony, a jazz band for the reception.”

He continued, describing colors and flowers and food, but he could see he had them hooked. This contract would be his, and he would finally be free.

* * *

“Well?” Esther demanded primly. Gold could practically hear the purse of her lips as she waited for his report. It had been a long day, and he leaned heavily on his cane as he walked down the street.

“It went well,” he said. “A little strange - the bride was conspicuously absent - but the groom’s family is paying, and they appear to be pulling the strings. It’s a bit of a rush job - they’re hoping for June.”

“That doesn’t give you much time,” Esther warned.

“I’ll deliver, you can be sure of that,” he snapped. “I just worry that I’ll be stuck designing a gown for an absentee bride. I need measurements and I need to _meet_ her. I…”

The breath was knocked clean out of his body when he collided with what appeared to be a tiny whirlwind of books. Papers mushroomed out around them as Gold stumbled and fell, twisting his ankle and landing painfully on one side, and then the whirlwind landed squarely on top of him, knocking the wind out of him a second time.

“Gold? Gold!” Esther squawked on the phone, and Gold fumbled for it.

“Fine,” he muttered. “Call later.” He hung up.

“Oh-my-God-I’m-so- _sorry_!” the whirlwind exclaimed, pushing herself up so that she was only half crushing him. He looked up, prepared to unleash the full force of his fury on her, and the words died on his tongue. Her blue eyes were wide and dark with remorse, her perfect pearly teeth digging into a very lush lower lip, and her cheeks were turning the most incredible pink.

“It’s no matter,” he rasped.

“Is anything broken? Can you move?” Her voice was low, tinged with an unmistakable Australian accent.

“Can’t tell, dearie. You’re still on top of me.”

“Oh!” Blushing more deeply, she scuttled to kneel on one side, her hands clasped in front of her. Gingerly he sat up and tested joints and limbs, hissing when he tried to flex his right ankle. “I did hurt you,” she said mournfully, and Gold had the absurd urge to apologize for upsetting her.

“It’s an old injury,” he said reassuringly.

“But I made it worse, didn’t I? Oh, dear,” she sighed. “Can you at least stand up?”

He stared wordlessly at her.

“Well I obviously can’t carry you, and you need to get ice on it as soon as possible. We can go in the library,” she gestured at the building she’d apparently just exited, “and use my office.”

“I...that’s not…”

“Come on.” She stood and walked to his side, holding out her hand, and, because he could think of nothing else to do, he took it and allowed her to help him to his feet.

When he was balanced precariously on his good foot, the young woman stooped to pick up his cane and then went to his left side and wrapped one arm around his waist. Together they hobbled up the steps and in through the large wooden doors. A man shorter than him (quite the feat, that) and nearly twice as broad hurried up to them.

“Belle? What happened?”

“The usual, of course,” Belle answered with a smile (and had any woman ever been more appropriately named?). “I was busy reading while I was walking and caused horrible damage. Unfortunately this time it was to a person instead of a trash bin or something.”

The man eyed Gold with suspicion. “You sure _you_ ran into _him_?”

“Very sure. Will you do me a favor, Leroy, and go pick up the mess I left on the sidewalk?”

“Sure, whatever you say, sister,” Leroy grumbled, still glaring at Gold. He stalked away, and Gold took a deep breath to brace himself as they moved into the little office behind the circulation desk.

“I’m so sorry,” Belle repeated. “I was running late for a meeting and I just wasn’t looking where I was going. Here, sit, I’ll get the ice.” When he’d sat in the desk chair, she pushed another chair around so that he could elevate his ankle.

She turned and hurried out the door, and Gold swallowed when he realized that she was wearing the least librarian-like ensemble he’d ever seen: a black thigh-high skirt that showed off miles of her perfect legs, a white button-down shirt, a black sweater, and sky-high stilettos. Had he hit his head on the sidewalk and fallen into a concussion-fueled fantasy? He sat back in the chair and sighed, glancing around the room. When he caught his own reflection in a mirror behind the shelving, he groaned.

He’d never thought much of his own looks, but at least his hair was usually combed. He ran his fingers through the disheveled shoulder-length mess, taming the worst of it, and for good measure straightened his tie and tried to brush the dirt off his jacket and trousers. Rubbing a hand over his chin, he wished he’d shaved a little more closely.

He froze suddenly and glowered into the mirror. What the hell was he doing? What did his looks matter? He fished his phone out of his pocket and dialed Jefferson.

“Rumple! I thought the Lefleur meeting was a success, even if…”

“Shut up. Are you still in the city?”

Jefferson huffed. “Rude. And yes.”

“I need you to pick me up and take me home.”

“.....Now, I’d be lying if I said I hadn’t thought about it, Rumple, but I happen to know I’m not your type. Are you drunk?”

“No, you idiot,” Gold snapped. “I twisted my ankle and can’t walk.”

“Oh! Where are you?”

“Library on Second.”

“Be there in a jif. Sit tight!” Jefferson rang off.

The little whirlwind still hadn’t returned, and Gold drummed his fingers on the arm of the chair, taking a more leisurely look around the office. Diplomas and certificates hung in dark wood frames, small potted succulents dotted the shelves, and a beautiful porcelain tea set sat on a tray on a cabinet. There were a few picture frames on the shelves, as well: Belle with a tall, red-faced man he guessed to be her father, Belle with a handsome older woman with her stunning blue eyes, Belle and three young women with their arms around each other.

Completely apropos of nothing, he couldn’t help but notice that there were no photos of a man her age or any children. He didn’t think he’d noticed a ring on her left hand, either.

Not that it mattered at all.

“Got it!” She fluttered back into the office with a Ziploc bag full of ice. Rather than set the ice on top of his ankle, though, she gently lifted his leg, sat in the chair herself, and put his leg in her lap. Carefully she removed his shoe and then pressed the ice pack against the swelling skin of his ankle, one hand on his foot as it rested against her stomach.

“I’m Belle, by the way,” she said with a rueful grin.

“Alan,” he sighed. The sharp cold of the ice was seeping into his muscles, and the pain was subsiding.

“Nice to meet you, Alan.”

“This is your office, I take it?” Gold asked, gesturing at the frames.

“Yes! I’m the head librarian, just started a few months ago. It’s my dream job, I can’t imagine doing anything else.” She lifted the ice pack to study his ankle.

“Oh? What do you like about it?”

“Everything! I love helping people find the books they need, making recommendations, talking about their preferences, providing books for free to anyone who needs them. But mostly, I love being surrounded by books all the time.” She glanced up at him from under her lashes and smiled sheepishly. “I know it’s a little odd, but my best friends growing up were books - I wasn’t the most outgoing or popular person - and when I’m here I feel...safe. Loved, even.” She bit her lip again. “That makes me sound crazy, doesn’t it?”

Gold thought of his house, with knick-knacks and figurines and vases on every flat surface, the feeling of peace that stole over him whenever he sat in his favorite chair with a tumbler of whiskey and looked at his most cherished pieces. “No. I understand exactly what you mean.”

Their eyes caught and held, and then Belle dropped her gaze and adjusted the pack on his ankle. “Does it feel any better?”

“What?”

Her lips twitched. “Your ankle. Does it feel better?”

He’d damn near forgotten he had ankles. “Aye.”

Three rapid knocks sounded on the heavy wooden door. “Beg pardon, looking for a shaggy, scowling Scottish…” Jefferson’s voice trailed away and his jaw dropped when Belle looked over her shoulder at him. “Well, _hello_ there.”

Gold sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. “Belle, this is Jefferson.”

“A pleasure, Belle,” Jefferson grinned, coming in the office and sweeping his hat off his head. “How did you come to rescue our poor damsel in distress?”

“By causing his distress in the first place,” Belle responded. “I’m not sure that qualifies me for knighthood.”

“Well, I doubt he minded that much, or he’d have growled at you and sent you scurrying.”

“Oh, yes,” Belle said solemnly with a little wink at Gold that made his pulse skitter. “I can tell he’s a regular beast.”

Jefferson roared with laughter, and then came around the desk to Gold’s side. “Think he’s strong enough to try to make it out to my car?”

“I didn’t suddenly go deaf, Bucket,” Gold said. “I can answer for myself.”

“Well, your ankle definitely looks better,” Belle told him, removing the ice pack. His foot remained in her lap, though, and she made no attempt to move it. “I hope I haven’t done any real harm.”

“I don’t think so. Nothing some rest and a little more ice won’t fix.”

“Well, good.”

Jefferson looked back and forth between them, and then snapped his fingers loudly; both jumped in their seats. Belle set his foot down, and Gold bent to put his shoe back on. “You know, I’ve just recalled that I’ll be able to join you tonight after all, Rumple,” Jefferson said.

Gold stared at him. “Tonight?”

“You remember! Tonight! In the park, the movie played on the side of the museum.” He grinned at Belle. “An excellent way to spend one’s time.”

Gold blinked. “I…”

“What movie are they playing?” Belle asked.

“ _The Good, the Bad, and the Ugly_. Westerns are a bit of a weakness of his,” Jefferson added in a theatrical whisper.

“Oh, I love Westerns!” she exclaimed, and Gold swallowed.

“Really!” Jefferson smiled even more widely. “Well, it would be lovely to see you there.”

Perhaps it had been _Jefferson_ who’d hit his head. Gold did occasionally go with Emma and Neal and Henry to see the movies in the park, but Jefferson had never once joined them, and…

“It’s Friday night,” he said quellingly. “I’m sure Belle has plans.”

Belle raised an eyebrow. “You don’t want me to come?”

“Well, I...I mean…”

“Of course he wants you to come,” Jefferson interrupted. “Eight o’clock by the carousel, we’ll meet you there. Come on, Rumple, off we go.” He pulled Gold up by one arm, slung the arm around his shoulder, and within minutes they were safely outside the library. Gold clutched his cane and tried to understand what had just happened. When they had been driving a few minutes, he felt composed enough to glare at his associate.

“What the hell was that about?”

“You could look a little less like you want to rip my face off. I got you a date!”

“A da- no.”

“Oh, yes. That sweet little librarian looked ready to devour you like the latest bestseller.”

Why was it so hot in Jefferson’s car? “But…”

“Don’t worry, I’ll call Neal and fill him in, they’ll steer clear. And of course _I_ will have some pressing emergency come up, so you’ll have your wee Beauty all to yourself.”

“Jefferson…”

“It’ll be good for you, Rumple,” he said sternly. “Even if it doesn’t work out, you should get back in the game. Not all women are like Cora and Milah. And don’t you dare act as if you weren’t attracted to her. I’ve known you too long. She’s _exactly_ your type and you know it.”

That was true enough. He’d always preferred brunettes, and no one could deny that this woman in particular was a stunning beauty. She was also young - and just because she didn’t have any pictures of a boyfriend or husband didn’t mean she was at all available.

“Look, we didn’t make her promise. You’re not even picking her up. You’ll just show up at the park and if she shows, great. If not...no harm done. Right?”

Gold sighed and leaned his head back against the headrest, the effort of fighting off Jefferson’s logic taking its toll. “Right. You’re right. No harm trying.”

There was no way she’d show up, anyway. A gorgeous young thing like Belle wouldn’t fancy an old cripple like him, no matter what Jefferson claimed to have seen. She’d just been kind, that was all. Kind and helpful and sweet. He knew better than to hope for her to show.

He hoped it anyway.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Gold has a pretty good time at the movies, and discovers there's a little more to the cheerful librarian than he'd expected.

“The Singleton marriage lasted one year and three months. You won the pool _again_.” Jefferson shook his finger under Gold’s nose. “You had inside information, didn’t you?”

“The bride had to take a Xanax before she walked down the aisle and the groom kept glancing at the caterer all night. To top it all off, their wedding song was ‘Unchained Melody,’ which put them squarely in the fourteen- to eighteen-month category.”

“I love that song.”

“Everyone does. That’s my point.” Gold looked nervously around them. If he had to listen to one more chorus of the Beer Barrel Polka he was going to take his cane to the carousel’s controls. It was ten minutes til eight and he could feel his nerves prickling under his skin. He’d already had a rather desperate conversation with Neal, practically begging him to come tonight and bring Emma and Henry, but Neal had cheerfully refused to rescue him.

“It’s not even a real date, Papa,” Neal had said. “Just don’t be a jerk.”

Well, that was easy for his handsome, charming son to say, but Gold hadn’t been one-on-one with a woman outside of bridal consulting in nearly twenty years. Even when he’d been young and relatively good-looking, he hadn’t exactly been Casanova.

“Any sign of your beautiful bookworm?” Jefferson asked, popping a french fry into his mouth.

“No. Perhaps she won’t come.” Gold heard the hope in his voice and cursed himself for a coward.

“Nonsense. My instincts are _unerring_. She definitely wanted - there she is!”

It was probably a good thing that Gold would never discover what Jefferson thought Belle wanted. He looked around; a sudden gap in the crowd revealed a familiar tumble of auburn curls. Jefferson waved an arm to get her attention, and Gold gripped his other arm. “Do _not_ leave me here,” he hissed.

Jefferson shook him off easily. “This is for your own good, Rumple.”

“Hey!” Belle bounced up to them, holding a large paper bag of popcorn, and Gold gave her a small smile.

“Hey.”

“Fiddlesticks!” Jefferson said loudly, causing them both to jump and look at him. “I’ve _just_ remembered that I promised Grace a tea party tonight. I’m the guest of honor! You two don’t mind if I ask for a raincheck, do you?”

“Of course not,” Belle smiled. “Grace is your daughter?”

“Daughter, princess, lady of my heart,” Jefferson said dramatically. “You’re very kind to excuse me, Belle. Rumple, see you Sunday.”

Belle waved him off and then turned back to Gold, her eyes shining. “Does he really have tea parties with his daughter?”

“He does. He’s rarely the guest of honor, though. That spot is usually reserved for the White Rabbit.”

She laughed and he allowed himself a slightly wider smile. She looked around them and then at him with a question in her eyes. “Should we find a seat? I don’t suppose you have a blanket with you?”

Gold scoffed. “A blanket on the ground? Please. I have reserved seating.”

“Oh? I thought seating here was first come, first served.”

“Not for me.” He offered her his left arm and she took it, looking intrigued. A short distance from the main clearing lay a fallen tree, a thick woolen blanket spread over the trunk. A very tall man in a black suit watched their approach, met Gold’s eyes, nodded once, and then walked away.

“Okay, who was that?” Belle asked, her voice thick with amusement.

“No idea.”

“Oh, come on, he nodded at you before he walked away. What, is he your bodyguard?”

Gold rolled his eyes and smothered a smile as he helped her sit on the blanket.

“Seriously, you can’t leave me hanging,” Belle prodded. She narrowed her eyes at him as he settled next to her. “Are you secretly some Scottish nobleman or something?”

That did startle a laugh out of him. “Couldnae be further frae the truth, dearie,” he said, deliberately allowing his brogue to thicken. “I’m the son of a Glasgow shipmaker, me.”

“Well, then tell me who he was, unless his identity is top secret.”

Gold sighed. “He’s my driver.”

“Your…” He could feel the moment her eyes latched onto his right foot. Well, spectacular. He’d managed to last an entire three minutes before reminding her that he was a broken-down old man who couldn’t even drive himself to a date.

Not that this _was_ a date.

“So you’re from Glasgow. Why did you come to the States?” she asked after a moment of uncomfortable silence.

“Espionage.”

She narrowed her eyes at him and popped a kernel of popcorn in her mouth. He smirked. “Yeah, I’ll bet. Probably more like running from an irate suit salesman.”

“Sheep rustling.”

“Mob activities.”

“Hush.”

Belle stared, her eyes widening. “Wait, really?”

“No, the movie’s starting.”

She blinked and looked back at the wall of the museum on which the movie was being projected. “Oh! Right.”

He’d seen _The Good, the Bad and the Ugly_ roughly two dozen times, and while the movie usually drew him in, tonight he found it hard to take his eyes off his companion. Belle was rapt, her eyes shining and her lips parted, and if he’d thought her beautiful before, the moonlight and the faint glow from the movie rendered her ethereal. He found it slightly unbelievable that a woman like her would spend her Friday night watching a spaghetti western in the park with a crippled, middle-aged man, but he was now willing to stop questioning it. She certainly didn’t act like a wilting violet; if she hadn’t wanted to come, she wouldn’t have.

At the conclusion of the film, Belle turned her glowing eyes and breathtaking smile on him. “That was by far the most amazing thing I’ve ever done in this city.”

Families and couples were standing, folding their blankets, and crumpling popcorn bags, and Belle noticed. Disappointment flashed across her face and Gold made an impulsive decision. “Would you care to take a walk with me?” he asked.

“Oh...I, um…” She bit her bottom lip and glanced down. “Wouldn’t that...hurt your ankle?”

He shook his head. “It hasn’t hurt all evening, and some exercise always does it good.”

She looked conflicted for a moment more, so he rose and extended one hand. “Well, okay,” she said slowly, taking his hand and rising. “But you have to promise to tell me the moment it starts to hurt.”

Dropping his hand, she fell into step beside him as he led her to a walking path on the grounds of the museum, a flat earth trail that wound between trees and amongst flowering shrubs. Belle breathed deeply and looked up at the dark sky.

“I love living in the city, but I do miss the stars,” she said quietly.

“Where are you from, then?” he asked.

“Australia.”

“Believe it or not, I’d deduced that much. I meant where in Australia?”

“Kilmore. I know,” she smiled, “everyone assumes Sydney or Melbourne, but there _are_ other towns in Australia.”

“And why did you come to the States?”

“We moved here when I was young. My mother’s family is American and...I guess they wanted a fresh start. We’re happy here. Dad’s got his florist business and Mother has her charities, and I’m...I’ve got the library.”

“Did you always want to be a librarian? You said it was your dream job.”

“It is, and I really can’t imagine doing anything else, but...it wasn’t always my dream.”

“What was your dream?”

She sighed and crossed her arms. “I love books, but I didn’t want them to be the scope of my experience with the world. What I wanted - what I  _ really _ wanted, at least when I was younger - was to be an overseas correspondent.”

He nearly stumbled in his surprise. “Really?”

“I know,” she smiled self-deprecatingly. “I don’t look the type.”

“You look the type who could do anything she wanted to do,” he said earnestly, and she blushed.

“I wanted to see the world, to shed light on the problems of people our society has forgotten about, to be…” she cut herself off and laughed self-consciously.

“To be what?”

“It’s silly, but...a hero. I wanted to be a hero. Not because I wanted to be famous or rich, but because I wanted to  _ help  _ people. I know,” she said ruefully. “It sounds ridiculous when I say it out loud like that.”

“I don’t think so. I think it’s a noble goal.”

“Well, my parents hated the idea. Years away, sometimes unable to talk to them. Too dangerous for their little girl. Dad completely refused to help me get my journalism degree. I could have taken out loans or something, but Mother was so torn up about it. So,” she waved a hand, “library science it was. Safe. Quiet. All of the words, none of the adventure, surrounded by my best friends. My parents were right; it’s better this way, and I do love the library. I wasn’t meant for heroism, I don’t think. I’m better off where I am.”

“Hmm.”

“That’s why I like to learn about things like this,” she said, gesturing back at the park. “Since I’m not cut out for grand adventures, I’ll have small ones: watching a movie in a park on a moonlit night with a possible criminal.”

“I never admitted to any criminal activities.”

“You never denied them either.”

He rolled his eyes and smiled. “So you’ve made me one of your adventures, hm?”

“You sound like you think that’s ridiculous.”

He stopped walking and turned to face her. “Doesn’t it seem ridiculous to you? An adventure with a skinny old man who can’t even walk properly?”

“Is that how you see yourself?” Belle raised her eyebrows.

“It’s what I am.”

“I don’t see that at all.” She shook her head and stepped closer. “I see someone who’s charming and interesting and…”

“And?”

She blushed and bit her lip, and her eyes flickered over him. “Um. Nice.”

He grinned. “Nice?”

“Yes.” She lifted her chin. “Nice.”

The corners of her mouth twitched and he suddenly wanted very, very much to discover if those lips were as soft as they looked. He took a step toward her and noticed that her eyes widened, her breath quickening. Cautiously he bent his head, his field of vision narrowing to the plush pink of her mouth.

Light flashed above them, and the next instant the roar of the thunder chased the lightning as rain pounded down on their heads. Belle gasped, stumbling back and clutching her arms around her.

“Go on,” Gold sighed. “I can’t run for it, but there’s no reason for you to get soaked.”

“You’ve _got_ to be joking,” Belle snapped. “I’m not leaving you out here alone.” She grabbed his arm and walked beside him; he could set a faster pace with her help, and they trudged through the rain, Gold wishing he’d been just a mite braver, just a second faster. Her hands were warm and strong around his arm, and he was almost sorry when they reached the street. Dove was waiting nearby with his car, so Gold helped Belle flag down a cab and handed her in.

“I had a great time,” she said quickly before slamming the door shut - the driver glared at her for keeping it open even that short amount of time - and she smiled widely and waved at him through the glass as the cab drove away.

He stood there in the rain for a few minutes, smiling what he knew must be a foolish smile, before he realized that his hair was plastered to his head and his shoes were probably completely ruined. With a sigh he slogged to his car and shook his head at Dove, whose face was carefully blank.

“A good night, Mr. Gold?” the man asked as he opened the rear passenger side door.

“Not bad,” he grumbled, sliding into the seat. He thought about her smile and her wide blue eyes, the hitch in her breath when he stood near and her insistence that he was an adventure. He decided that he would get a library card on Monday, first thing, and ask her out for a proper dinner. “Not bad at all,” he said more softly.

* * *

Gold gripped the arm of his chair hard in an effort to resist drumming his fingers. Gaston Lefleur was scrutinizing the contract as if he expected to find a clause signing away his first-born, and while Gold appreciated attention to detail, he thought the groom-to-be might be taking it too far. Glancing at the clock, he held back a sigh; he was due at the synagogue in an hour, but he couldn’t risk jeopardizing this final deal. At long, long last, Gaston looked up.

“Where do I sign?”

“The lines marked with page flags.” He watched as Gaston flipped through the pages, signing whenever he came across a little yellow arrow, and wondered for the twentieth time where the bride was in all of this. Perhaps she genuinely didn’t care about the details of the wedding, as long as they were married at the end of the day. She wouldn’t be the first. Still, this amount of disinterest was unusual, and he found himself curious to meet her. He didn’t meet unusual people every day.

That thought led directly to thoughts of Belle and what he was now quite ready to call their date. Another unusual person, there. Unusual and entertaining and fascinating and…

“Whoa, what’s with you?”

Gold blinked and looked up at Gaston, who was grinning. “Hm?”

“I know that look on your face.” Leaning forward, Gaston waggled his eyebrows. “You got laid, didn’t you?”

Shock held him silent, but he was not as outraged as he’d normally be by such impertinence. He was still feeling a bit too pleased to muster up real ire.

“Must be pretty new if you’ve still got _that_ look,” Gaston continued. “First or second date, right? After a few years the whole ‘Aawww yeah I just got lucky’ feeling goes away. I mean it’s still _fun_ ...it’s just not _exciting_ anymore, y’know?”

No, he didn’t know. He had no bloody clue what it was like to be with a woman so regularly that it was no longer exciting. He wasn’t sure he wanted to. Besides, he was fairly sure that wouldn’t happen with Belle - he couldn’t imagine ever being blase about a relationship with…

“Wow, you’ve got it _bad_ ,” Gaston laughed. He leaned back and crossed his arms. “So who is she?”

“You’re making an awful lot of assumptions, dearie,” Gold said, horrified to discover that his voice was nowhere near as stern as he wanted it, and that the corners of his mouth were actually _lifting_.

“Assumptions my ass. You’re totally gone on her, whoever she is.”

“Beg pardon for the interruption, _Monsieur_ ,” Jefferson drawled, poking his head around the edge of the door, “but we need to leave soon if we’re going to…” His voice trailed away and he pointed at Gold, his eyes wide. “You got _laid_!”

“That’s what I said,” Gaston chuckled.

“While I am most definitely _not_ the sort to kiss and tell,” Gold sighed, “I feel compelled to correct you. It was...a date.”

Lefleur rolled his eyes, but Jefferson nearly hyperventilated. “You called it a date! So what...how...did you…”

“We watched a movie under the stars, walked about the grounds, and trudged through the rain.”

Groaning, Gaston let his head fall against the back of his chair. “So you somehow became a real-life chick-flick character. Might as well change your name to Ryan Gosling.”

“And did all that culminate in a passionate make-out session in the back of your car?”

_The back of his car_ . Why the _hell_ hadn’t he thought of that? Not the kissing part, exactly, but offering her a ride home? He was an imbecile. “No, I, uh...helped her get a cab.”

Both men stared as dolefully at him as if they’d just discovered that Christmas had been cancelled.

“You...got her a cab?” Jefferson said faintly.

“She’s there, she’s wet, she’s cold, and you get her a cab.” Gaston huffed. “Dude, your game needs work.”

“You’re fixing this, right, Rumple?” Jefferson said. “A dozen roses? A hand-written poem?”

“I was going to see her tomorrow,” he said slowly. “I suppose I should pick up some flowers…”

“Tomorrow?” Gaston frowned. “I hate to be _that guy_ , but...one thing Izzy asked me to do today was set up a consult for her dress, and since tomorrow’s her day off…”

“Ah.” Gold rubbed the bridge of his nose. “Well, that is slightly more urgent if I’m to have the gown ready in time for a June wedding. Of course I’ll see her. Have her come by the office tomorrow at nine.”

“And then maybe you can go see your chickadee in the afternoon, right?” Gaston said knowingly.

Gold didn’t answer, but Jefferson and Gaston wore identical looks of smug satisfaction. “We should go, Bucket,” he said, standing slowly. “Mr. Lefleur, a pleasure. Do contact me if you have any questions.”

“Will do, Goldie. Thanks for everything.”

“Goldie,” Jefferson murmured when Gaston had left and he and Gold were in the elevator. “I’m not sure I like that. Makes you sound like a fish.”

“Because ‘Rumple’ makes me out to be the height of sophistication” Gold grumbled.

“At least mine’s original. His is just lazy.”

“For God’s sake,” Gold groaned.

“I gave you a hard time in there, but...you _did_ have a good time on Friday, right?”

Gold glanced at him, relaxed at the sincere concern in his associate’s face, and smiled a little. “I did. Your ham-fisted matchmaking attempts notwithstanding.”

Jefferson snorted. “You’re welcome.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, Gold's gonna meet Izzy! I'm sure that'll go SPECTACULARLY well.
> 
> I struggled with the passage in which Belle reveals her original dreams. It's hard to explain how something can be your dream job, and perfect for you, but also not what you wanted originally. I hope I conveyed that clearly.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Gold meets Izzy.

Fairy Tale Weddings was pretty nearly deserted at eight-thirty on a Monday morning. Gold relished the silence as he leafed through the portfolio of designs he’d compiled over the years. Usually by now he had some idea of what would suit the bride’s personal style, but he was drawing a blank. Izzy French was a complete mystery to him.

With a sigh he pushed the book away from him and took out his sketchpad. His pencil slid over the surface of the paper, scratching out an image of a cinched sleeveless bodice, and A-line skirt brushing just below mid-thigh. He studied the bodice and adjusted it, delicate lace over a satin camisole. The skirt would be full, and the bride would wear white tights and stiletto heels. A dancer’s gown, he thought as he sketched a faceless figure, long slim legs and graceful arms. The dress was whimsical and nostalgic and flirty. Ideal for a woman with an adventurous spirit and unconventional style. Dropping the pencil, he studied the sketch with a small smile. It was good, he decided. One of his more daring designs, but on the right woman…

He heard the elevator bell sound and the murmur of voices in the lobby, and he rolled his shoulders before getting to his feet. Lefleur was standing alone when he walked out, and Gold frowned in frustration.

“Hey, Goldie,” Gaston said, shaking his hand. “Don’t worry, I’m not here to stick my nose in where it doesn’t belong. I’m just dropping Izzy off. She went to the bathroom. Look,” the boy lowered his voice to a conspiratorial murmur, “she’ll try to lowball it. She’ll say stuff like ‘simple’ and ‘understated,’ and I want her to have what she wants, y’know? But I also want her to have the best. Spare no expense, okay?”

Gold nodded.

“Great.” Gaston looked over Gold’s shoulder when he heard the click of high heels on the marble of the lobby. “There she is! You finally get to meet my Izzy. Izzy, this is Gold, our wedding planner.”

Gold turned and suddenly felt as if all the air had been sucked out of the room. His fingers clenched around the handle of his cane and he fought to keep his expression neutral. Belle stared back at him, her face white as a sheet and her hands twisting together.

“Gold, this is my fiancee, Izzy.”

After several long torturous seconds, Gold remembered how to respond to an introduction. “A pleasure to meet you, Miss French,” he said calmly.

“Hello.” Belle - Izzy - whatever the hell her name was - had recovered her composure and smiled slightly.

“Anyway, I’ll get out of your hair,” Gaston said cheerfully. “Just call when you’re ready to come home, okay, Izzy?”

Belle nodded in response, and Gold held her gaze until he heard the elevator behind him close.

“Well, well. Miss Izzy French. We meet at last,” he said. “Do you ask _every_ man you meet to call you Belle, or is that merely the name you gave me?”

She winced. “My full name is Isabelle. Gaston calls me Izzy, but I’ve always preferred Belle.”

“I see.”

“I can ex…”

“Oh, I’m sure you _can_ explain, dearie, but I am supremely uninterested. Shall we get started?” He began to walk to his office, but Belle darted in front of him, her eyes wide.

“Please, just...that day we met…”

“A day I will always remember fondly.”

“I was running late. I was supposed to meet Gaston and our wedding planner, but I ran into you and…”

“Don’t blame this on me,” Gold growled, planting his cane in front of him. “I know exactly why you weren’t there that day. You don’t want to get married.”

“What? Yes, I do!”

“Oh, do you? Then why have you shown no interest in the details? Why has Mr. Lefleur been taking all of our meetings alone? And…” he took one step closer, “where exactly does Mr. Lefleur think you were on Friday night?”

“He had a business dinner. I told him I was going to a movie with friends.”

He smiled slowly. “Ah.”

“It...it was just a movie,” she said sternly. “I like movies. I _love_ Westerns. And besides, Jefferson asked me to go!”

“So as far as you knew, you were going to a movie with two men you’d only just met?”

Her mouth opened and then closed, and for a moment he thought he’d silenced her, but then the blood rushed into her cheeks and her eyes snapped with fire, and good Lord, she was even more beautiful angry. “Are you trying to _slut shame_ me?”

“I...no, I…”

“We were in a public, open place. I was surrounded by people and I could leave at any time. My going to a park to watch a movie with you does not mean I was just looking for a good time!” She crossed her arms. “Anyway, you were the one who let Jefferson leave with that stupid excuse about a tea party, and _you_ were the one who invited me for a walk afterwards.”

He felt wrong-footed and off-balance, and then he recalled something very important. “All of that may be true,” he said, “but _I_ am not the one who is engaged.”

Belle sighed. “It was just a movie. It didn’t...it didn’t mean anything.”

Gold had thought he was past the age of feeling the kind of pain that lanced through his chest then. He clutched his cane and leaned forward. “Is that so?”

“Yes.”

He stepped forward, now nearly toe-to-toe with her. “Then why, Miss French,” he said softly, “did you almost kiss me?”

Her blue eyes were wide and dark, and he recognized that hitch in her breath. Slowly, deliberately, without taking his eyes from hers, he stepped back, taking a steadying breath of his own and then stepping past her.

“My office is this way, Miss French, if you’d be so kind as to follow me. We have a gown to design, after all.”

After a few seconds he heard the subdued click of her heels on the carpet as she followed him. He gestured for her to take a seat, and, marshalling every ounce of his professionalism, began their meeting in earnest by placing his portfolio in front of her.

“These are samples of my designs,” he said. “If anything appeals to you, let me know. I am, of course, open to designing a gown from scratch, though we are in a bit of a crunch.”

“What’s this?” Belle pulled his sketch out from under the portfolio, and Gold felt his throat run dry. “Oh,” she breathed, one finger tracing over the lace overlay, “this is _gorgeous_.”

It was her dress, of course. He should have known that the moment he began sketching those long dancer’s legs, and now she’d discovered it. He waited helplessly for her to realize that he’d designed it for her before he’d even known she was the bride, but she merely gazed at it longingly.

“If you like it…” he began.

“It’s beautiful, but...I think Gaston is planning something a little more formal.”

He was. The showy, deceptively intimate affair Gold had described with harps and votives and glass tables. That was all wrong for Belle, he thought suddenly. Belle would prefer moonlight, something with running water nearby to provide gentle accompaniment to the proceedings - a fountain or stream or well. No ceremony music, heartfelt vows written by herself and her groom, a few close friends.

He was much too good at his job.

“A gown can be made to fit any occasion,” he said. “Mr. Lefleur told me before he left that you were to have whatever you wished. If this is the gown you want, then it’s the one you should have.”

She studied the drawing for another moment, and then looked at him. “What do you think of it?”

“I designed it, dearie. I think it’s genius.”

Belle laughed, and the last of the tension from their earlier argument faded away. “I’m inclined to agree.” She gazed at it for a few more seconds and then placed the sketchpad on top of the portfolio. “Alright, then. This one.”

He smiled. “As you wish.”

They talked fabrics and measurements, and set up a time for her to be fitted, and then she was calling her fiance to come collect her.

“Yes, I’m...what? Okay.” Puzzled, she placed the phone on the desk and put it on speaker.

“Can you both hear me?” Gaston asked.

“Yes, we’re here,” Belle answered.

“So, Mom and Dad found this great place. A vineyard a few hours outside the city, and it’s _the_ place to get married this season. Goldie, do you know about Oz Vineyards?”

“Yes, it’s a very popular venue,” he responded. Belle was staring at him with a small grin. _Goldie?_ she mouthed. He grimaced and she smothered a giggle.

“I set up a tour. Belle, can you get Wednesday off?”

“I can set something up with Ellen.”

“Great.”

“Okay, well, thank you for your help, Mr. Gold,” Belle said. “I’ll see you on Friday for…”

“Whoa, whoa!” Gaston called. “He’s going with us.”

“I am?”

“He is?”

“We can’t make any decisions without you, Goldie. Don’t worry, I’ll drive, and meals’ll be on us. See you Wednesday!” He rang off.

Belle made a face. “I hope you aren’t busy Wednesday.”

Gold sighed. “No, I’m all yours.” He regretted his choice of words immediately, but Belle didn’t appear to notice. “Wednesday, then, Miss French.”

“You can call me Belle, you know” she said with a gentle smile.

That was a terrible, awful idea. “Very well. Until Wednesday, Belle.”

“Yeah.” She smiled and picked up her phone, then left his office without another glance.

He slumped in his chair and glowered at the top of his desk until she was well and truly gone, and then he picked up his sketchbook and threw it across the room.

* * *

“Rumple, you’ve always been a bit of an insane genius, but have you completely lost your mind!?” Jefferson was staring open-mouthed at him.

“No,” Gold sighed, running one hand through his hair. “I have to tell Blue I’m off the account. I can’t work this wedding.” It had taken him nearly an hour to clean up the sketches that had flown everywhere, but he’d gained clarity of mind. There was really only one thing to do.

“Wait, wait, wait!” Jefferson leapt to his feet and pointed at him. “The only acceptable reason for quitting an account is when you break the cardinal rule, and we both know you did not fall in love with the bride or groom.”

Gold reached out and poked a pencil on his desk back into alignment.

“Rumple.”

He straightened his portfolio and then loosened his tie a bit, and readjusted the pencil.

“Oh, my God, you didn’t.”

“No, of course, I didn’t,” Gold said tensely, picking up the pencil. “I don’t get emotionally involved.” The pencil snapped in two in his fingers. “Ever.”

Jefferson stared at him. “Uh…”

Dropping the two halves of the pencil on his desk, Gold rubbed at the bridge of his nose. “She’s the librarian,” he admitted.

“I’m confused. Is she the bride or the librarian?”

Gold leaned forward and spoke slowly. “The bride is the librarian. The librarian is the bride. The librarian is Gaston Lefleur’s fiancee.”

“Oh.” Jefferson stretched the single syllable out for several seconds. “That is... _really_ rotten luck.”

“Yes.”

“Okay, this sucks but...you need this account.”

“There’ll be other accounts.”

“Not like this. You can’t quit. Alan, you _deserve_ this.”

Gold looked up at this rare use of his actual name to see that Jefferson looked more serious than he’d ever seen him. “What do you…”

“You think I don’t know that you’ve been in debt to Esther Blue since you got to this country? That she’s kept you under her thumb for years?” Jefferson huffed. “You deserve to be free of this place, free of _her_.”

Gold sighed and rubbed his hand over his face. “I...I don’t mind working for her for a few more years.”

“Well, I do! You promised you’d take me with you!”

“I didn’t, actually...”

“Esther Blue is a talentless gnat who’s been riding your coattails for decades. She made exactly _no_ money until you came along, and she’s been exploiting you ever since. You _know_ that, Alan. You know you deserve better.”

Gold blinked, Jefferson’s affirmation tying his tongue.

“You can do this. It’s...it’s great that she got you to open up, y’know? You met a pretty girl and you took her for an evening out and you had a good time. You liked her. That’s huge, and maybe now you can do it again. So...be grateful to her and move on.”

“You’re right,” he said quietly.

“I’m always right.”

Gold stared at the top of his desk for a moment and then gave a small nod. “Okay.”

“Okay?”

“I’ll stay on the account. I’ll forget about Belle French, and I’ll get out from under Blue’s thumb.”

“And you’ll do it with style and class.”

“Of course.” He straightened his tie and stood, clutching his cane. “I am, after all, a professional.”

Jefferson clapped him on the back and grinned. “Damn straight.”


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Gold accompanies Belle and Gaston on a tour of a possible venue.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I just want to say that while I like all of the songs Belle and Gaston listen to, keep in mind that Gold has heard them dozens, if not hundreds of times. His opinions are not mine!

Just off the top of his head, Gold could think of about half a dozen places he’d rather be than in the backseat of Gaston Lefleur’s shiny black BMW with the happy couple. The X5 had pulled up outside the office building at precisely nine o’clock, both driver and passenger fresh and bright-eyed and youthful, and Gold had felt an unexpected twinge. How he could have imagined that a beauty like Belle was not only single but interested in  _ him _ was now a complete mystery to him. She was sipping from a coffee cup and perusing a tablet, and she gave him a small smile when he took his seat behind her; he only just managed to respond in kind. The car was blessedly silent for the first twenty minutes, but when Belle set her tablet down, Gaston seemed to take it as his cue to speak.

“So I was thinking yesterday, and I realized we don’t have a wedding song. Something to dance to? I got this CD - it has a lot of popular wedding songs on it. Maybe there’ll be something we like.”

“It doesn’t have to be a wedding song, does it?” Belle asked. “Can’t it just be a song we both like?”

“Just give the CD a try, okay, babe?”

At Belle’s nod, Gaston slid the disc into the player, and Gold held back a groan as the all-too-familiar twangs of Clapton’s electric guitar echoed in the car.

_ It’s late in the evening, she’s wondering what clothes to wear… _

“What do you think?” Gaston asked.

“I don’t know,” Belle hedged. “The woman in the song has blonde hair - doesn’t seem appropriate.”

“Fair enough.”

The song stopped abruptly, followed by melancholy piano chords, and Gold wished he could open the car door and leap to his death.

_ Heart beats fast, colors and promises, how to be brave… _

“Isn’t this song from  _ Twilight? _ ” Belle asked.

“Oh, yeah. That one’s out.” Gaston shuddered and smacked the button.

_ Some day, when I’m awfully low, when the world is cold _ …

“No,” Belle said decisively. Gold tried not to smirk.

“What?” Gaston yelped. “It’s ol’ Blue Eyes! You don’t get more classic than this!”

“He spends the whole song asking her to stay young and beautiful,” Belle said frostily.

Gaston sighed.

_ Whoa, my love, my darlin’, I’ve hungered for your touch alone… _

“Hey, this one’s good!” Gaston said, turning the volume up slightly.

Belle was silent.

“You love this song, Izzy...you used to play it all the time. I like it too, and it’s easy to dance to. It’s perfect.”

_...and time goes by...so slowly...and time can do so much… _

“You’re right,” Belle said at last. “It’s perfect.”

“If you don’t like it we can…”

“No, I do like it.” Her voice was softer, warm and sweet. “I do love this song, and I think...let’s use this one.”

“Awesome. Hear that, Goldie? We’ve got a song!”

Gold’s scoff was completely unintentional but not, unfortunately, inaudible.

“What?” Gaston asked, glancing in the rearview mirror.

“Nothing.”

“Is it a bad song?”

“No. No, it’s...absolutely perfect.” If this marriage lasted longer than six months it would be a bloody miracle.

“So, Goldie, not to change the subject or anything but...what happened with that woman?”

Belle, who had just taken a sip from a bottle of water, choked, splattering the dash and coughing violently. Gaston reached over and patted her hard between the shoulderblades a few times until she calmed.

“You okay?”

“Yeah,” Belle croaked. “Just...swallowed weird.”

“Be more careful, babe. So, the girl,” Gaston said as Belle turned and stared out the window. “Did you see her again?”

“Ah...it...didn’t work out.” Gold watched Belle’s reflection in the window, but she was staring directly ahead, her face a calm mask. He tried to keep his voice neutral.

“How is that possible? I saw you two days later and you were still all shiny-eyed and sappy.”

Belle caught his eye at that moment, and he reddened and looked away. “Well, as a matter of fact, she turned out to be the bride in one of the weddings I was planning.”

There was a heavy pause. Finally Gaston turned off the music and breathed, “No shit.”

“Yes.”

“That’s...wow, that  _ sucks _ .”

Gold saw Gaston reach for Belle’s hand. “I bet the poor bastard doesn’t even know. I’m lucky I’ve got my Izzy - some people are real jerks.”

“You are a very lucky man indeed.”

He didn’t have to try that hard to sound sincere, which was worrying on its own. Gaston kept Belle’s hand in his, and Gold averted his eyes, feeling old and sad and very much alone. After a few minutes one of them must have let go, because the radio snapped back to life and was tuned to a sports station, and they were all saved from having to make small talk.

They were met at the front of the vineyard’s event hall by a smiling woman who began to lead them through the hall, pointing out the breathtaking views from the windows and the spacious room that allowed for five hundred people. Gaston grinned widely at that, but Belle looked a little shaken.

“Five hundred? Surely we don’t need that much room.”

“Mom and Dad were looking over the guest list the other day and it’s getting pretty close to that,” Gaston said. “You know them - just five hundred of our closest friends.”

Belle smiled weakly, and Gold turned to their guide.

“I don’t suppose Mr. Walsh is available?”

“Oh...Mr. Walsh left the vineyard a few months ago. Ms. West is our event coordinator now.”

“Ms…” Gold felt the blood drain from his face. He noticed that Gaston and Belle were both looking at him with concern, but before he could pretend he was sickening for something and decamp, a dreadfully familiar voice rang through the hall.

“Goodness, Alan, is that you? Why didn’t you tell me you were coming today?”

All three of them turned as a tall, lovely woman made her way to them, her red hair gleaming in the sunlight and her smile glittering.

“Zelena,” he responded, not bothering to duck away when she pressed a kiss to his cheek.

“Well, this is wonderful,” she chirped. “I love it when you surprise me.”

“Do you know each other well?” Belle asked.

“Oh, yes, we a fair bit more than  _ know _ each other,” Zelena laughed. “How long has it been, darling? Six years or so?”

Gold winced at her implication, and then felt a surge of indignation when Belle’s eyebrows rose. Was it really so shocking that an attractive woman would claim him?

“Or so,” he murmured.

“Huh.” Gaston grinned at him. “You’re kind of a dark horse, aren’t you, Goldie?”

“Not exactly.”

Belle folded her arms and continued to study him, her eyes gleaming. “You didn’t mention a woman in your life, Mr. Gold. I’m so glad you have someone. Everyone should, I think. Someone they can trust, someone they can be faithful to.”

“Yes, well, Zelena, we’re actually on a bit of a time crunch,” Gold said. “If you would be so kind as to begin our tour…”

“Oh, I think Miss...French, wasn’t it? Miss French and I can be trusted to look over the bridal accommodations and ceremony site while you and Mr. Lefleur talk business. These things don’t really require a gentleman’s input, after all, do they?” With a coquettish smile, she looped an arm through Belle’s and led her away.

“I guess Movie Girl isn’t that big of a loss if you’ve got _that_ woman waiting in the wings,” Gaston said with a suggestive grin.

“Ms. West and I share a very cordial professional relationship,” Gold lied.

“I’ll bet.”

Desperate for a change of subject, Gold waved a hand at the window. “Care to see the actual vineyard?”

Shrugging, Gaston looked dispassionately around. “We should wait for Izzy. Didn’t I see a sign for a gym? Where’s that?”

With a small sigh of relief Gold led him away to the fitness center. With any luck, they could avoid discussing Zelena or Belle or anything at all related to either until the women rejoined them. Thankfully, Gaston was instantly captivated by the state-of-the-art gym equipment - though why such a thing would matter at one’s wedding venue was a mystery to Gold - and talked of nothing else until lunch.

* * *

 

After  lunch Zelena insisted on having the groundskeeper join them as they toured the gardens - “He knows  _ so _ much more about the plants than I do, after all!” Gold disliked the man on sight: tall, lanky, a heavy jaw, and eyes entirely too fixated on Belle.

Nott spoke at length about the plants in the garden, their origins, their meanings - it did not escape Gold that he stood a little too close to the bride-to-be and drew her attention to flowers with romantic or suggestive meaning a little too often. Gaston, however, had long since stopped listening to the impromptu lesson in floriography and was instead much more interested in Zelena’s monologue about the grapes in the vineyard and the wines they produced. They broke off into pairs, Gaston and Zelena in front, Nott and Belle behind, and Gold walked between them, wishing he were anywhere else in the world.

“May I ask when the big day is?” Nott asked Belle when she didn’t respond to his hints that she might like to walk away from the group and explore the rose garden.

“June seventeenth.”

“Not much time left, eh? Have you sown all your wild oats?”

“I beg your pardon?”

Gold’s hand clenched around the handle of his cane and he stared hard at the back of Gaston’s head. The young man was several feet ahead with Zelena and getting further away, and it was really  _ not _ Gold’s place to step in.

“Well, you know...before you sign your life away, I hope you’ve had time to live it a little.”

“I don’t plan on signing anything away, and I have every intention of living my life to the fullest after I’m married.”

“Is that so?” The tone of Nott’s voice made Gold’s skin crawl. “Got an open relationship, have you?”

“That’s - that’s not what I said.” Belle’s voice faltered.

“Why wait til after the wedding to live life to the fullest? We could…”

“Mr. Nott, let go of me!”

The note of panic in her voice made something dark and ugly rear up inside Gold’s head, and he turned to see that Nott had taken Belle’s arm and was looming over her.

“I believe the lady made herself clear, Nott,” Gold snapped, walking back to meet them.

“Not your business, is it, old man?” the young man tightened his grip on Belle’s arm and Gold’s temper snapped. He shifted his grip on his cane and brought the handle down hard on the man’s forearm; Nott shouted and jumped back, fire blazing in his eyes. “You stupid little…”

“Careful, dearie,” Gold said softly. “Ms. West is not known for her forgiving nature, and you’ve just assaulted a customer. Do you really want to make things worse and go after me?”

Belle had inched away from Nott and now stood slightly behind Gold. Nott glared at both of them in turn and then shook his head. “Not worth it,” he muttered. “She looks like a frigid bitch anyway.”

Red flooded his vision and he’d lifted his cane again before he even realized it, this time high enough to hit the man’s head, but a gentle pressure on his arm and a soft voice in his ear banked the fire in his veins.

“Don’t,” Belle whispered, tugging on his sleeve. “Please, it’s not worth it.”

“The hell it isn’t.”

“ _ He’s _ not worth you getting arrested for manslaughter,” she said. “Come on, Gaston and Ms. West must be wondering where we are.”

Baring his teeth, Gold dropped his cane and glared at Nott, then deliberately turned his back on the taller man. Offering Belle his arm, they left the red-faced groundskeeper behind to fume.

“Thank you,” Belle said after a few moments of silence.

“It’s no matter.”

“I didn’t - I swear I wasn’t encouraging him or flirting or…”

“I know. He doesn’t seem your type.”

“What is that supposed to mean?” Belle sounded taken aback. “I’m engaged to Gaston...why would him not being my type matter?”

Gold shrugged, slightly ashamed of what he’d implied, but unable to recant completely.

“You have some nerve, y’know. You were so indignant that I went to a movie with you while I was engaged, but you’re not exactly single yourself, are you? Ms. West talked about you nonstop on my tour, and I know you’re more than just colleagues.”

Part of him wanted to defend himself, but the larger part was intrigued that he most definitely heard a note of jealousy in her voice.

“My romantic life is really none of your business,” he said calmly.

“It is when you’re pretending you have some kind of moral high ground! Are you really going to keep throwing that night in my face for the next month?” She shook her head and dropped his arm. “What the hell is your problem?”

“My problem?” he scoffed. “I’d worry about your own.”

“My…?”

“I have been a wedding planner for a very long time, Miss French. Perhaps even since before you were born. I can predict down to the week how long a marriage will last. What color have you chosen for your bridesmaid dresses?”

She looked slightly thrown at the abrupt question. “Um...teal.”

“Teal. The color of gangrene.” He shook his head with a smirk. “My last bride who chose teal got her marriage annulled after twelve days.”

“The color flatters my bridesmaids!”

“And ‘Unchained Melody’ for your wedding song? Might as well commit matrimonial suicide right now.”

“Alright.” Belle stopped and turned to face him, hands planted on her hips and eyes sparking. “Do you want a confession? Is that what will get you off my back? Yes. That night at the movie...I  _ was _ attracted to you, okay? I admit it. I wanted to sit next to you and watch a movie in the dark, I wanted to walk with you under the stars, and I wanted to kiss you. Is that what you want to hear?”

Yes. No. His brain felt fuzzy and he’d forgotten how beautiful she was when she was angry.

“Maybe I was feeling a little...stifled. Maybe I wanted to do something rebellious for the first time in years. I didn’t think I would ever see you again, and when it comes down to it,  _ nothing happened _ , and I am still sure that marrying Gaston is what I want.”

His chest and throat felt tight, and he struggled to meet her eyes.

“I’m sorry,” she said, and he winced. “I didn’t mean to hurt you.”

“I think you will find, Miss French,” he said heavily, “that by and large, intent is meaningless.”

She was silent for some time. Glancing up, he found her eyes were wide and dark and sad, and his breath caught in his throat. He took a step forward, and a thrill went through him when she did too. She was so lovely and so captivating and so  _ close _ …

“There you guys are!”

Belle started and backed away, blushing furiously, at the sound of her fiance’s voice, and they both turned to see Gaston and Zelena approaching them. “Sorry, Gaston,” she said shakily. “I wandered away from the path and got a little lost, but Mr. Gold found me.”

“So gallant, Alan,” Zelena smiled, wrapping her arm around his. “A regular knight in shining armor.”

“Thanks, Goldie!” Gaston threw an arm around her shoulders. “She can get kind of lost in her own world sometimes. What do you think of the vineyard, Izzy?”

“It’s lovely.” She turned away from Gold and focused all of her attention on Gaston.

“You think? I don’t know...I was kind of hoping for something a little bigger. Dad just texted me and said he’s thought of about fifty more people he’ll have to invite.”

“Well, if it’s not big enough, we should definitely keep looking,” Belle said. “Of course you know we could always cut the guest list.”

“Nope, can’t do that. Too many VIPs...once you invite one, you have to invite them all or they get offended. So I guess we keep looking.” He grinned at Gold. “You guys hungry? What do you say to dinner and some of that fancy wine Zelena was telling me about?”

“That sounds great,” Belle said with a smile.

Gold forced a similar expression onto his own face, as if he couldn’t imagine any greater pleasure than breaking bread with the obnoxious barnacle on his arm, the woman of his dreams, and said dream woman’s fiance.

_ No more Blue _ , he reminded himself.  _ No more venue tours or band auditions or terrible food. A shop of my own. Freedom.  _ At the moment, he wondered if his freedom was worth the price.   



	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Belle has her measurements taken, Gold has a heart-to-heart with his family, and the bride and groom finally choose a wedding venue.

Thursday had been a day blessedly free of anything to do with weddings, and on Friday Gold entered the small office space Esther allowed him for design and fittings with a lighter heart than he’d had in several days. It had become increasingly obvious that in order to have everything prepared in time for the Lefleur-French wedding he would need to avoid taking other accounts, but Esther was in no position to complain. The Lefleurs were inviting half the fashionable world to their son’s wedding, and Fairy Tale Weddings would be a household name. Of course, with any luck, so would Gold, if Belle’s gown turned out as beautifully as he imagined it.

There was a knock on the door, and Gold looked up to see that Belle had arrived, clutching a small tote bag and looking nervous.

“Come in,” he said.

She smiled briefly and stepped in, her eyes sweeping around the room and over the swatches of fabric, the dress forms, the framed pictures on one wall, the large three-way mirror against another, and the small privacy screen. “It’s cozy in here,” she said.

“It’s small, is what you mean,” Gold snorted. “I hope to have a larger space one day.”

Belle seemed to relax a little more and approached the photographs, her eyes widening when she realized that they were photographs of his designs, and she scrutinized each one. “These are all so beautiful,” she sighed. “I had no idea some of them were yours - there are gowns here from almost twenty years ago!”

“I told you I’ve been in this business a long time.”

“Did you always want to be a wedding planner?”

“Not exactly, but it’s work I do well.” She gazed at him curiously, and to ward off further questions he gestured to the selection of fabrics he’d laid out. “We discussed satin for the skirt, and satin with a lace overlay for the bodice, yes?”

“Yes.”

“Alright. I have a basic idea of where we’re starting from, but I can’t make any progress until I’ve properly measured you.”

“Oh.” Belle glanced at the bag she was still clutching. “I was supposed to bring what I would wear under the dress, right?”

“Correct.” He motioned to the screen and she ducked behind it. He heard her rustle in her bag for a while and had just uttered up a prayer that she would not need to be laced into a corset when she emerged from behind the screen and stole the breath from his lungs, the words from his tongue, and most of the thoughts from his brain.

A corset would have been preferable, because then at least more of her silken skin would have been hidden from view. In her white demi-cup bra and white lace French-cut panties, she looked like a bridal fantasy come to life, and he really needed to look away before he thoroughly embarrassed himself. _Don’t be such an idiot_ , he berated himself as he pretended to search for his tape measure. _You’ve seen hundreds of pretty women in their underwear._ He picked up the tape measure and pinched the skin between his thumb and forefinger hard. The pain helped him to focus, and he turned to face her again.

“Should I, uh, by the mirror?” she asked.

“No,” he said. Dear God, the last thing he needed was to be faced with more of her. “You’re fine where you are.” He stepped up to her. “Hold your arms out from your sides.” He passed the tape measure around her bust. “Down,” he muttered.

He told himself that he was measuring a dress form. Bust, waist, hips. He worked methodically, woodenly, trying not to notice that her skin was pinker now than it had been when he started, or that her chest was rising and falling a little too quickly for someone who was standing still. It was almost impossible to ignore the fluttering of the pulse in her throat when he placed the measure near the base of her neck and drew it over her bust and down, and when he took the measure of her back, from the base of her neck to her waist, he told himself that the gooseflesh on her arms must be from the cold.

He was sweltering in his suit, but that was neither here nor there.

At long, long last he took the final measure and jotted it down, and she hurried back behind the screen. Taking a long, deep breath, Gold set the tape measure away and leaned heavily against his drafting board. The worst was over, at least. He would not need to be quite so close to her again, and certainly time and exposure would lessen the...intensity of his attraction to her.

“So…” Belle emerged from the screen, fully clothed once more, but her face was still slightly flushed and she wasn’t quite meeting his eyes. “When should I come in next?”

“Monday.”

“Monday? That soon?”

“The wedding is in less than two months, dearie. The sooner the gown is complete, the better.”

“Right. Okay. Monday it is.” She smiled, her gaze still focused somewhere near his left ear. “Until then, Mr. Gold.”

She rushed out of the studio as if she were being pursued by wild dogs. Gold understood the feeling.

* * *

“You look like you got hit by a truck.”

“Thank you, son.” Gold lifted the wooden spoon out of the thick red sauce to check the flavor.

“This wedding must be a doozy. Jeff said it would be tough.”

The spoon froze halfway to his mouth. “Oh? What exactly did Jeff say?” If the idiot had been blabbing about his deal with Blue...

“Y’know, short time-frame, high profile, custom dress, difficult bride.”

Gold’s shoulders slumped a little in relief, then tensed again. “Difficult? Belle - Miss French is not a difficult bride.”

Neal raised his eyebrows. “Really? Jeff said working with her would be challenging.”

“Difficult and challenging are not the same thing.”

“Uh...pretty sure they are, actually.” Neal leaned against the counter and crossed his arms. “What’s with you?”

“Nothing.”

“Right.”

“I’m just...tired of this, I suppose,” Gold said. “All of it. Schmoozing clients, mouthing platitudes, managing everything from the vows to the confetti on the tables.”

“So quit. You have enough money saved up. Open that dress shop I know you’re always thinking about.”

“I can’t just yet.”

“Why, because of this wedding?” Neal shrugged. “Give it to Jeff, he’ll do fine.”

“They want me, sought me out. We struck a deal, the contract’s been signed.”

“So alter it.”

“Neal…”

“Stop bullshitting me, Papa.” His boy’s voice had gone hard. “What’s really going on? Why did you even take this account if you’re sick of everything? Why don’t you just _leave_?”

“I can’t.”

“You can’t? Or you won’t?”

“He can't.”

Both men turned to look at Emma, who had entered the kitchen without them knowing it.

“What do you mean?”

Emma shook her head and looked sympathetically at Gold. “If you’re ever going to tell him, now’s the time.”

“How do _you_ know?” Gold asked incredulously.

She shook her head. “I didn’t know for sure until recently, but you had to know I’d figure it out. Finding people, learning their secrets...it’s what I do.”

“Secrets? Papa, what is she talking about?”

With a sigh Gold turned off the flame under the sauce and set a lid on the pot. This conversation might take a while. “When we came to this country, your mother was the one with the work visa, and my visa was attached to hers.”

“Yeah, I know.” Neal scratched the back of his neck. “She worked for that shipping company. But you had a job too, right? You worked for that tailor. Mr. Zotto.”

“Yes, but…”

“It wasn’t legal for him to work, Neal,” Emma said gently. “That’s changed in the last few years, but back then…”

“Oh.” Neal shrank into himself a little. He walked to the refrigerator and pulled out a bottle of beer. “Something tells me I’m gonna need this.”

“Mr. Zotto was helpful, but...his help came with a price, and before long I was deeply in his debt. He said he’d help me get a green card, and then I could begin working to pay off the debt, but he put it off and put it off, and then...well. The accident happened.”

“Your leg?”

“I couldn’t work for months, and your mother...well, we’d been rocky for a very long time. She filed for divorce, and since my visa was attached to hers…”

“You’re not...you’re not still here illegally?” Neal took a step back, panic flickering in his eyes.

“No, no,” Gold said hastily. “No, everything’s legal now, but back then...It’s just that...well, Mr. Zotto was getting impatient with me. I couldn’t work as quickly or as well, I had you to care for as Milah hadn’t even tried for custody…one day a woman came into the shop. She’d had a dress altered a few weeks before and she came back, claimed it was the most exquisite work she’d ever seen. She ran a wedding planning agency and was looking for someone to tailor gowns in-house.”

“Blue,” Neal said. “But if you were in debt to Zotto...”

“She bought me, more or less. Paid off the debt. Got me an attorney, filed for green cards for the pair of us. I’ve been working off that debt to her for years.”

“But Fairy Tale Weddings didn’t even take off until after you went there. How could she afford something like that?”

“Because Pops isn’t her only deal,” Emma said. “It’s kind of a side business with her. She’s...well, a loan shark, for lack of a better term. She doesn’t usually _employ_ her debtors, I guess you were special.”

“So wait, you knew all this?” Neal turned on his wife, his voice sharp. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

“Are you kidding? Did that sound like my story to tell?”

“He’s been working his ass off for twenty years because some shady bitch has him by the balls and you didn’t think I deserved to know?”

“I didn’t know for sure until about a week ago,” Emma snapped, “and anyway what are you gonna do about it?”

“Can’t we...I don’t know...go to the police or…”

“Neal, I’m a bail bonds-person, not a detective. I have no evidence. At least, none obtained legally and definitely nothing that would hold up in court. Half of it was guesswork until your dad just laid it all out for us.”

“Okay, so what’s the deal with this wedding, then?” Neal asked.

“It’s the last, Neal. We agreed. After this wedding, I’ll be done with Esther Blue and Fairy Tale Weddings.”

“Right. Good, that’s...that’s good.” Neal looked calmer despite the glistening of his eyes. “I’m still pissed at both of you, though.”

“I’m sorry,” Gold sighed. “I should have told you long ago, but...well, I was a coward. I didn’t want you to know that I’d been so foolish.”

“You weren’t a coward,” Emma said. “You were young and scared and all alone, and...I mean, sure, you made some bad choices, but you really only had a few options and they all sucked.”

“So...I get why you can’t quit the account,” Neal said. “But if you’re not dealing with a bridezilla, why did Jeff say this wedding was gonna be challenging?”

“Because Jefferson is a histrionic madman.”

“I’m not an idiot. I know what Jeff’s like when he’s being weird. He was serious, and he’s never serious. Why is this wedding gonna be harder than any of the others? Why do you look dead on your feet after one week of planning?”

“I’m not as young as I used to be.”

“Papa…”

“Let it go, Neal,” Emma said softly. “He’ll tell us when he’s ready.”

Neal shook his head and stalked out of the room, swigging his beer.

“Thank you, Emma,” Gold sighed.

She squinted at him. “How did that date go? The one from a week ago?”

He dropped the wooden spoon, splattering the stove-top with red sauce. “Fine,” he stammered.

“I ask because you never mentioned the girl again. Neither did Jeff, and he was practically _singing_ he was so excited.”

“It didn’t work out.”

Emma crossed her arms. “I told Neal to let it go, so I will too. But I know there’s something you’re not telling us, about the girl and about this wedding, and I’d bet a million bucks they’re related somehow.” She stepped a little closer and leaned in. “I know it’s hard for you to get this, but _you are not alone_ , Gold, and Neal is not a little boy anymore. Let him be there for you. He needs that.” She followed her husband out of the room.

Gold finished making dinner in pensive silence, and was relieved when he carried the pasta into the dining room and found peace more or less restored. Neal still looked a little sulky, but Emma was teasing him gently and Henry’s cheerful grin was infectious. As the evening wore on, Gold considered Emma’s words about Neal needing to offer support and uneasily shrugged them aside. If there were an actual problem, perhaps he would confide in Neal, but for now...for now there was nothing wrong. Not really.

* * *

“What do you think, Goldie? Uh, Goldie?”

Gold started a little and looked about him. The park was large and airy, a fountain playing in the middle with Roman-styled architecture nearby. It would be a lovely background for the ceremony, and was at least preferable to the vineyard.

“The park is an excellent location,” he said. “The two of you would be the first, as no one has been married here before. It’s certainly large enough for your purposes, though we would have to construct the site from scratch.”

“Dad would love it,” Gaston said.

“And the bride and groom?” Gold asked, turning to face them. “Do they love it as well?”

Belle and Gaston turned to look at each other and after a few seconds they spoke at once.

Let’s keep looking.” “Let’s take it!”

Belle looked incredulous and Gaston surprised.

“You like it?” “You don’t like it?”

“I’ll give you a minute to talk.” Gold limped a few feet away. He could probably still hear their conversation over the rush of the fountain if he tried, but he did not want to impose on their privacy.

“You’re the best, Izzy,” Gaston said loudly, and Gold grimaced as he turned to face them again. “You see why I’m marrying this woman, Gold? She’s the best, isn’t she?”

Gold smiled faintly.

“You guys are gonna do a great job on the wedding while I’m gone.”

“Gone?” Belle said. “Gone where?”

“I have to go to Tokyo for three weeks, remember? That merger Dad set up?”

“I thought…”

“Since I’m going to take over so many of the accounts next year Dad wants me to be the face of the company more often.” He gave her a smacking kiss on the forehead. “You’ll do great without me, and Gold won’t steer you wrong, right, Goldie?”

“Ah…of course not.”

“See? It’ll be fine.” Gaston slung his arm around Belle’s shoulders. “When are you going in for your next fitting?”

“Monday.”

“Cool.” He turned to Gold. “I leave tomorrow, so I won’t see you again until I get back. Have fun!”

The two of them walked away and Gold took another deep breath. _Four weeks_ , he thought grimly.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Truths that will always be evident in my fics:  
> a) Neal is alive.  
> b) The Blue Fairy is shady AF.


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Another dress fitting. Ladder shenanigans. Cake tasting.

_Monday, May 22 - 25 days to go_

He was not as collected as he would like to be by Monday, so he arrived at his workroom early and pulled his spinning wheel and some prepared wool from the closet. He didn’t spin much anymore, mostly because he had little time for it, but he felt the tension in his neck and shoulders begin to melt away, and his mind was blessedly empty of thoughts and worries. The spokes of the wheel blurred as they spun, and he was fully immersed in the soft whir of the wheel and the feel of the wool slipping from his fingers.

A quiet knock on the door drew his attention and he looked up. “Mr. Gold?” Belle stood just inside the door, her wide blue eyes fixed on the spinning wheel.

“Good morning, Miss French. If you would be so kind as to change…” He gestured at the screen, and she nodded briskly, stepping behind it. He rose from his seat and approached her dress where it hung on the form, inside out with wide basting stitches at the seams.

It would not be so bad this time. The worst was over and she could no longer surprise him with her beauty, and he would not have to measure every curve of her body again. They could both get through this unscathed. He was in complete control.

Just to be on the safe side, however, he kept his gaze mostly averted when she returned from behind the screen clad in her underwear, and helped her as little as possible as she slipped the dress on. Only when she was fully clothed did he dare to look up.

Belle was looking into the three-way mirror, her face calm and distant. “It doesn’t look much like a wedding dress yet, does it?” she asked. “But I know it’ll be gorgeous when it’s done, everything you make is.” He couldn’t help preening a little at that. “I can’t even sew a straight seam. How do you make your work look so effortless?”

“Years of practice, dearie,” he said as he adjusted one shoulder of the bodice. “I’ve been doing this for ages - since before you were born, most likely.”

She giggled a little. “What was it like, sewing gowns before the age of electricity?”

He faltered a little and stared up at her indignantly.

“Sorry.” Belle bit her lip and smiled. “That was a joke.”

“Very funny,” he groused, but the corners of his lips twitched in an unwilling smile.

“You said you didn’t always want to be a wedding planner. What about this?” she asked, gesturing at the fabric billowing above her knees. “Did you always want to design wedding gowns?”

“ _Want_ didn’t factor much into it. It’s a bit of a family business,” Gold said, pinching the material at her waist and debating whether he ought to bring it in another half inch or so.

“Your parents were dressmakers?”

Gold snorted. “No, my father was a con man who occasionally built ships when his cons weren’t successful. My mother...well, who knows what she is or was. My aunts were craftswomen - spinners and weavers and seamstresses, the pair of them. They taught me their trade.”

“That’s how you learned to spin?”

“Exactly.”

Belle glanced at the spinning wheel and then at him, worrying her bottom lip thoughtfully. “You looked...I don’t know, happy. Peaceful. While you were spinning, I mean.”

“I like to watch the wheel,” he said without thinking as he smoothed the fabric of the skirt and eyed the length, searching for any unevenness in the way it hung. “It helps me to forget.”

“Forget what?”

He froze, his hands on her waist and his thoughts tumbling about in his brain. To forget...to forget that he’d nearly ruined his and Neal’s life in this country before they’d even properly started. To forget that he seemed destined to be alone. To forget…He looked up into her eyes and saw that she was staring at him, awaiting his answer with a breathless anticipation it didn’t deserve.

“Guess it worked,” he said with a crooked smile.

She giggled again and he stepped away, the warmth of her still on his palms.

“Do you like the fit so far?” he asked. “I could bring it in a little, if…”

“No, I think it’s perfect.” She spun slowly, looking over her shoulder to observe the gown from the back. “It’s...better than perfect. It’s a dream come true.”

“All in a day’s work, dearie.” He gently drew the zipper of the dress down, careful not to track its progress down her back, and gestured at the screen. “I’ve made my marks, so you can change again. We’ll have you come in for your next fitting next week.”

“Right.” Belle stepped carefully out of the dress and handed it to him, and then stepped behind the screen once more. When she came back out, he had already placed the dress on the form and was packing away the wool and yarn he’d left out. “So...I guess we need to choose a wedding cake, right? Do you have someone you usually use or…?”

“Yes, I’ll set up an appointment and contact you with the details.”

“Okay.” She glanced around the room, twisting her hands in front of her, and he took pity on her.

“Goodbye, Miss French.”

“Goodbye, Mr. Gold.”

He sighed under his breath as she hurried out, and shook his head. _There, you see?_ he told himself. _Much better._

* * *

_Wednesday, May 24 - 23 days to go_

_If you’ll stop by the library, I can drive us both to the bakery_.

Gold looked at the text again and shifted his grip on his cane nervously. They had a little more than three weeks left, and it was a miracle that he’d been able to book the venue, hire a band, and reserve a caterer since he’d taken on the contract. He’d much rather have Gaston and Belle choose the cake themselves - he wasn’t going to be eating the bloody thing, after all - but with Gaston away and the wedding day barrelling down upon them he had little choice.

Dove had needed the day off, and so the choice had been between a cab ride and accepting Belle’s generosity. He could think of no excuses to reject her offer that wouldn’t be instantly transparent, so here he was, limping into the library and hoping this would be a quick, painless process.

“Hey! I know you!” Gold turned toward the voice and recognized the short, bearded man who’d cleaned up Belle’s mess the day they’d met. He was wearing an ugly gray custodian’s uniform with his name (Leroy) stitched on the chest, and he was clutching a mop as if it were a sword. “You’re that guy who ran into Belle a few weeks ago.”

“Actually, dearie, she ran into me,” Gold pointed out coldly.

“Right, whatever. What are you doing here?” Leroy looked him up and down and sneered. “You’re not here to sue her, are you?”

“Lawsuits are presented by people’s attorneys, not in person. And no, I’m not suing her. I have an appointment. Not,” Gold returned the scathing once-over, “that it’s any of your business.”

“Who makes an appointment with a librarian?” Leroy demanded.

“Her wedding planner.”

The scorn on the man’s face fell away, to be replaced with disbelief. “Wait... _you’re_ the wedding planner?”

“Yes.”

“Huh.”

Gold raised his eyebrows.

“It’s just...I don’t know, she talks about you. You’re not what I expected.”

She talked about him. She _talked_ about him? Why? What did she say about him to warrant that calculating look in Leroy’s eyes? “Where is she?”

“Social sciences,” Leroy grumbled, gesturing. “Careful, the floor...I just mopped so it’s a little slippery.”

Considering that a moment ago he’d looked ready to club Gold over the head with his mop, the warning felt almost friendly. With a nod of his head Gold walked in the direction he’d indicated. The first few rows of shelves were devoid of tiny librarians, but he finally discovered her in the political section atop a ladder whose stability seemed questionable.

“Oh, you’re here!” she said, smiling down at him. “I’m sorry, I just had a few more books to shelve - I’ll just be a minute.”

He nodded, his throat suddenly dry as he realized that nearly every inch of her legs was visible from his current position. Hastily he looked down and focused on the titles nearest him - they were dry and uninteresting and exactly what he needed to focus on at the moment. Above him Belle was muttering the titles of the books in her arms as she pushed them into place.

“Wait, this one goes over there,” he heard her say. “Dammit, I don’t want to have to move the ladder…”

Against his better judgment he looked up and saw that she was leaning dangerously far out, attempting to slide a book into place on the next bookshelf over.

“Miss French, perhaps you ought to…”

“Could you please call me Belle?” she grunted, stretching a little farther. “Seriously, _no one_ calls me ‘Miss French,’ not even the kids who come here for story time.”

“Belle, you’re going to…”

Belle’s foot slipped on the rung of the ladder and Gold hastily stepped forward. What exactly he planned to do he had no idea, but in half a second she landed in his outstretched arms and knocked him to the ground.

For such a tiny, graceful-looking creature she really was unbelievably clumsy. At least this time she hadn’t twisted his ankle.

“Oh my God, I’m so _sorry_!” she cried as she scrambled off of him.

“I’ve heard that before,” Gold groaned. He sat up and tested his limbs, supremely grateful that everything was in working order.

“Why did you do that? I could have broken your ankle!” she said, her hands hovering over his shoe as if prepared to rip it off at the slightest provocation.

“You didn’t. I wasn’t about to let you brain yourself on the library floor.” Gold reached for his cane and, leaning heavily on it, pulled himself to his feet. Belle was still sitting on the floor, staring up at him, so he held out his hand. With shaking fingers she took it and stood, but she did not let go.

“Thank you,” she whispered.

“It’s no matter.”

“Is everything okay over here?” Belle started and looked at Leroy, who had appeared at the end of the row. “Thought I heard something fall.” He glanced at their joined hands and raised his eyebrows.

“We’re fine, thank you.” Belle dropped Gold’s hand and smoothed her skirt. “I have to leave, Leroy, but let Ellen know I appreciate her covering for me.”

“Will do, sister.”

Gold could feel Leroy’s eyes on their backs as they left the library, but he refused to look back. Nothing untoward had happened, after all, and if Belle’s face was any indication, nothing more would ever be said about the incident.

“How big is a cake for five hundred people anyway?” she asked as they drove to the bakery.

“Not everyone will have cake,” Gold pointed out, “but we should still plan for most people to want a piece. We’ll want to have two cakes, as even a five-tiered wedding cake doesn’t serve more than about two hundred. Any taller than that, and we risk structural integrity.”

“I see,” Belle sighed, “Two cakes it is, then.” After a few more turns at his direction, Belle glanced at him. “I know I sound...I don’t know. I just always pictured a small wedding. Family, friends. Somewhere quiet and secluded. Not a show, just...a celebration of love and commitment.”

Gold was torn between wanting to agree and wanting to scream. _Why are you marrying him?_ The words pounded in his brain, but he refused to voice them. Her reasons for marrying Gaston were none of his business. Her reasons for agreeing to all of the boy’s decisions were none of his business. _She_ was none of his business.

When they entered the bakery and were greeted by Anna, the smiling red-haired proprietress, Belle seemed to regain some of her cheerfulness.

“The French-Lefleur wedding!” Anna exclaimed, ushering Belle and Gold to a table nearby. “When Mr. Gold called to book your tasting I almost passed out I was so excited. I mean, this is going to be the wedding of the _decade_ , and you’re choosing us! I promise we won’t disappoint you. We’re not the best-known bakery in the city but we’re the best, and once you taste our cakes I know you’ll agree.”

Belle smiled. “What should I start with?” she asked.

“Our pink champagne is really popular, and it’s just right for a wedding.” Anna indicated the pink slice of cake in the center of the flavor list. “I mean, as long as your groom doesn’t mind a pink cake.”

“Oh...that’s probably not the one we want then,” Belle said. She studied the list of options, her face growing more serious and uncertain with every passing second.

“Perhaps a collection of your five most popular flavors, to begin with, Ms. Vinter,” Gold said. Anna nodded and, with a concerned glance at her customer, hurried into the back of the shop to collect the samples. “Is everything alright?” he asked when she was gone.

“Fine. It’s just...I just realized I have no idea what flavor cake Gaston would like.”

Gold had no ready response for what was apparently a rather disturbing discovery, so he said nothing. When Anna entered with five small pieces of cake on a platter, Belle rallied and smiled and listened attentively as she named them.

“Grand Marnier - it’s a little citrusy and it has cognac. Hazelnut Almond - we usually fill this one with chocolate ganache and raspberry preserves. Coffee and Cream - that one is self-explanatory and super popular recently, I guess everyone’s on a coffee kick. Caramel Apple - it’s an apple spice cake with caramel buttercream. And this one’s my personal favorite, Chocolate Dream - devil’s food cake with chocolate ganache, it’s very rich and dark.” Anna stood back and clasped her hands behind her. “Go ahead!”

Belle tried the Grand Marnier first, her expression softening. “Definitely my favorite part of wedding planning,” she said. “This is amazing!” She was complimentary about all of the flavors, and when Anna went into the kitchen again to refill her water, she turned to Gold with shining eyes.

“How do you not weigh a thousand pounds?”

“I don’t usually eat the cake, dearie. It’s reserved for guests.”

“Oh! So you’ve never tried Anna’s cake?”

“No point in that if I’m not buying it.”

“Well there’s plenty here and I can’t eat all of it. Try some!” She speared the last of the Chocolate Dream cake and held it near his lips.

The smell of chocolate made his mouth water and he fought to keep his face neutral. Very few people knew how much he loved chocolate, and how very weak he was in the face of it. “I, ah…”

That was a mistake. The instant he opened his mouth she shoved the fork past his lips and he took the bite instinctively, the flavor exploding on his tongue. Closing his eyes, he took a deep breath and savored the rich, bitter chocolate and creamy ganache. Gods above, Arendelle Bakery would be inundated with business after this wedding with cakes like that. He opened his eyes to find Belle staring at him, her expression unreadable.

“Uh, wow.” Her voice sounded strained. “That must have been one hell of a bite of cake.”

“I, um…” He could feel heat creeping up his neck. “I have, a, uh...bit of a weakness for chocolate.”

“No kidding. You looked…” She cut herself off and blushed. “But you’ve got a bit of...” She gestured at her face and he immediately copied her, but apparently missed. He sat frozen as she reached out and swept a dab of frosting from near the corner of his lips. His mouth went dry when she licked the chocolate from her finger as if such a gesture were the most natural thing in the world, then froze, the tip of her finger still in her mouth and her eyes wide as they locked on his. “I...I’m sorry, I…”

“Here we are! Sorry, I dropped the glass on the way back and had to get another. So have we decided?” Anna grinned at them, apparently oblivious to any tension in the room. “Ooh, I see you finished the Chocolate Dream - isn’t it divine? Is that the winner?”

“No,” Belle said, hastily folding her hands in her lap. “I’ll take the - the Hazelnut Almond.”

Anna frowned a little. “Are you sure? Because the Chocolate Dream…”

“I’m sure.” Belle stood, gathering her purse and refusing to meet Gold’s eyes. “I have to make a call, will you...will you take care of the order, Mr. Gold?”

“Of course,” Gold sighed. Anna looked puzzled, but she shrugged and produced the paperwork, and in very short order Gold was back in Belle’s car, wondering how to fix this latest fiasco.

“How is Gaston?” he asked at last.

“Oh, great. He’s in his element, charming boards of directors and buying rounds of drinks. Apparently some of them took him out for karaoke the other night.”

“Can he sing?” Somehow Gold couldn’t imagine it.

“He couldn’t carry a tune in a bucket, but he had a blast anyway.”

“Ah.”

“And, uh, how...how is Zelena?”

Gold swiveled to stare at her. “What?”

“Well, last week she...and you...aren’t you seeing each other?”

“No,” he said firmly. “She might like it to be otherwise,” he ignored Belle’s indelicate snort, “but we’ve never been involved romantically.”

“Oh.” She looked on the verge of saying something else, but they’d arrived at his house, and Gold reached for the handle of the door.

“Monday will be a good day to visit the flower market, if you’ve no other plans, and then Tuesday we’ll have your fitting.”

“Okay.” She stared straight ahead. “I’ll meet you there if you’ll text me the time and address.”

Some terrible gremlin caused him to pause and turn to her. "I agree with you," he said quickly, "about the small wedding."

"You do?" She turned to look at him at last, and he gave her a small smile.

"That's how I would do it."

She pressed her lips together, and he couldn't tell what that expression meant, and he wasn't even sure if it was safe for him to find out, so he fairly leapt from the car before she could say another word.

As he climbed the porch steps, he ran over the events of the day and wondered why he’d thought this was a good idea. Even the promise of freedom and the dress shop seemed insufficient motivation. He leaned briefly against the door, relishing the darkness and silence, and then jolted to attention when he heard footsteps. He scarcely had time to be worried before a familiar figure appeared.

“Hey, you’re home,” Neal said, leaning out of the living room. “And you look like hell.”

“As always, your compliments overwhelm me," Gold said dryly. "Why are you here? Did you need something?”

“I was looking for that blanket you made me when I was a baby. Henry hasn’t been sleeping well and I thought my old magic blanket might do the trick.”

“It’s in the attic.” Gold hung his overcoat on the coat rack and made his way into the living room, where he sat heavily in his armchair and stared morosely at the empty fireplace.

“Wow, you look like you need a drink.” Neal went to the liquor cabinet. “Rum? Whiskey? Brandy?”

“Aye, but what’ll you have?”

Neal scoffed. “Funny.” He poured them both a couple of fingers of Scotch and sat on the couch to his father’s right, holding out a glass. “Something you wanna talk about?”

Gold stared into the whiskey and thought of Emma’s words. He couldn’t possibly feel worse, and if listening to his old man’s problems would make Neal happy, who was Gold to deny him?

“I thought I could control everything,” he said at last. “I can’t. I thought I met someone who was...well, she’s not.” He heard Neal shift beside him and looked up to see that his son was watching him closely. “Did you...did you ever like someone, but the timing was off? You feel things you should not be feeling?”

“The girl from the movies?” Neal prompted.

Gold nodded.

“What happened?” Gold had only ever heard Neal sound so gentle with his own son, and he almost smiled. “You were so happy and then you...weren’t.”

“Do you remember what Jefferson told you about this wedding? That I would find it challenging to work with the bride?”

Neal’s eyebrows knit for a moment in confusion, and then realization dawned on his face. “Oh, Papa,” he whispered. “You fell in love with a client?”

“Well, I didn’t know she was a client at the time.”

“And you can’t just quit this account because of the mess with Ms. Blue.”

“Correct.”

They sat in silence for a moment, sipping their drinks. “What’s she like?” Neal asked.

“Brilliant. Sweet. Impulsive.”

“Pretty?”

Gold sighed into his glass. “Beautiful.”

“Let me guess: long legs, dark hair, pretty eyes?”

“Beautiful blue eyes. And an accent you wouldn’t soon forget.” He looked up at his son curiously. “How did you…?”

“Always been your type.” Neal smiled a little and shrugged. “I like my blondes, you like your brunettes.”

“Tamara wasn’t blonde.”

“Tamara was around for like two months. She also cheated on me. Doesn’t count.”

Gold was fairly certain that wasn’t how it worked, but he refrained from arguing.

“I’m sorry this happened to you, Papa.” Neal finished his drink and set the glass down. “You know if you need to talk some more I’m here, right?”

“Yeah.” Gold drained his own glass. “Thanks, son.”

“Anytime. I’m gonna get that blanket and get out of your hair. We on for dinner on Sunday?”

Gold nodded and watched as his boy bounded up the stairs two at a time, reappearing a few moments later with his childhood blanket. When Neal was gone, Gold poured himself another drink and sat alone in the darkness, wishing that he could banish the memory of her touch on his skin.

It was a very long time before he could convince himself that he’d succeeded.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I skipped the whole "sculptures at a wedding, person gets stuck to stone dong" thing. It was mildly funny in the movie but considering the role reversal I just couldn't figure out a situation in which Belle would get a statue's junk stuck to her hand. (I really tried. Went through three drafts. Wasn't working.) So I went with the cake tasting instead which I think went pretty well, and they learned a little more about each other, which is always good.
> 
> What did you think?


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Belle and Gold choose flowers for the wedding and Belle has her penultimate fitting. There's a little light shed on why, exactly, Belle is marrying Gaston.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> https://www.tbdress.com/product/V-Neck-Flower-Sash-Tulle-Lace-Tea-Length-Wedding-Dress-11414856.html
> 
> This picture is the closest I can get to what I see in my head when I describe Belle's gown. Hers is shorter, a couple inches above the knee, and it's white, and it doesn't have the flower. Other than that, this is pretty close.

_Monday, May 29 - 18 days to go_

“Camellias make for a good base in a wedding floral theme,” Gold said. They had met at the market; Gold was anxious to avoid any more situations that left them alone in confined spaces too long, and Dove was blessedly back to work.

“Yes, they would,” Belle mused, studying the blooms. “They represent everything a wedding should.” She looked around them at the collection of plants for sale and breathed deeply. “Is that something you’re careful about? The meanings of flowers?”

“I’m careful about everything, dearie, but I don’t always have final say.” He gestured at a vase of bleeding hearts. “One of my brides once insisted on having these in her bridal bouquet and wouldn’t hear a word against them.”

Belle laughed. “The funeral flower of Tibet? That’s a bad omen if I’ve ever heard one. In her defense, they are beautiful and unusual. I’m sure the bouquet was striking.”

“It was.” _Particularly when it collided with the face of one of her bridesmaids, who was found snogging the groom three hours into the reception._ Gold decided not to share that little anecdote. “Did you say your father was a florist?” he asked.

She looked surprised. “Yes, I...I’m surprised you remember, to be honest.”

He felt his face flush as he glanced away. “It was a memorable detail.”

“Well, he’s always had a way with plants, my dad. He started with one little shop, and then another, and after a while he had a whole chain of them. Game of Thorns, I don’t know if you…”

“I’ve heard of them.” Gold smiled. “I do the occasional business with Game of Thorns, though I prefer to buy wholesale. I would have thought,” he said carefully, “that your father would have supplied the flowers for the wedding.”

“Oh.” She fidgeted with her engagement ring. “Gaston’s parents are - well, they’re proud. Dad wanted to supply the flowers, but the Lefleurs are insisting on paying for everything, and what they say goes.” She glanced up at him. “I know it’s usually the bride’s family that pays for the wedding, but...when my mother fell ill a few years ago...well, she just doesn’t have the energy, and Dad’s been fretting about…” She cut herself off and studied the booth nearest her. “Orchids. Maybe for centerpieces? Would that work?”

“Perfect” Gold made a note and allowed her to drop the conversation.

Some of the mystery surrounding this mismatched marriage was clearing. Money. Yes, he knew exactly what it was like to watch as your security dwindled away. The Frenches were not necessitous by any means, but a serious illness could decimate a fortune in a matter of years. Though why Gaston was her choice and not one of the number of eligible heirs in the city still remained a mystery.

“How did you and Gaston meet?” he asked at last.

“College.”

“Did you have a class together?”

“A few. The thing is, everyone knew Gaston. He was captain of the football team, president of his fraternity chapter, and he was involved in pretty much every social group on campus. Always the center of attention.”

“Somehow, that doesn’t surprise me.”

“He’s a good man underneath the bluster,” she said earnestly. “He and some of his teammates started a buddy system on campus when a student was attacked walking home at night. They took shifts at the library and student union and would walk people to their dorms after dark. And his frat was one of the few on campus that didn’t pull stupid pranks or haze their rushes - not without hearing from him, anyway.”

Gold could picture that, oddly enough.

“Of course, not all of his schemes were so successful,” Belle gave a little laugh that was almost a sigh. “Our senior year he found out that a hate group was going to picket the student union because they disagreed with the formation of a Gay-Straight Alliance, and he organized a bunch of people to picket back. The dean told him it was a bad idea, that this group was known for goading people into getting physical and then suing, but Gaston wouldn’t listen and...well, it ended about as well as you’d expect.”

“A brawl, eh?”

“It was a total disaster. The only reason the protesters didn’t sue is that one of the football players had a video of one of _them_ throwing the first punch, so they couldn’t claim the students had started it.” Belle shook her head. “That’s Gaston - he doesn’t think ahead or plan, he just _does_ things, and because he’s a good guy with good intentions things usually work out, but when they don’t they go spectacularly wrong.”

“So you met in one of your classes?”

“We saw each other around, and then just before Mother got sick she threw a charity ball that the Lefleurs attended. Gaston came with his parents and we were the youngest people there, so we talked for a bit. He asked me for coffee and then dinner, and...it just sort of happened, you know? I was a bookworm who was rarely seen outside of the library, and he was the campus big-shot, and...he chose me.”

It was a heady thing, to be chosen, Gold knew. _She chose me out of everyone she could have had_ was a refrain he’d played in his head over and over when things with Milah were getting worse. Belle stopped at a booth and passed her fingers over the petals of a rose.

“They’re my favorite,” she said softly. “Roses go with camellias, and they’re appropriate.”

“More than.”

“Papa?”

Gold froze, then turned to find Neal and Henry behind him. “Grandpa!” Henry exclaimed, running to throw his arms around his grandfather’s good leg. His face aflame, Gold patted the boy’s hair and wished very briefly that his grandson were a little less fond of him. Belle might be out of his reach, but until this moment she hadn’t know he was a grandfather, and the reminder of how old and decrepit he must appear to her was terribly unwelcome.

“What are you doing here, Neal?” he asked.

“It’s our anniversary, so Henry and I came to get Emma some flowers.”

Gold frowned. “Your anniversary is in September.”

“No, the _other_ anniversary. You know.” He glanced at Henry.

“Oh, right, of course,” Gold smiled. The anniversary of their first meeting when they were trying to steal the same car. They’d been so busy arguing about who was going to steal it that the owner had come back and driven it away without either of them noticing.

Neal glanced behind him and raised his eyebrows, and Gold turned back to Belle, who was staring at Neal as if she’d seen a ghost. “Neal, this is Belle French, the bride in the wedding I’m planning. Belle, my son Neal and his son Henry.”

Whatever reaction he’d expected, Neal’s easy smile and friendly handshake were a relief. “Nice to meet you,” he said. “Congratulations. I hear it’s gonna be the wedding of the century.”

Belle smiled uneasily. “Thanks?”

“It’ll go great,” Neal reassured her. “If there’s one thing my Pops knows how to do, it’s throw a killer wedding. He’s had tons of practice, after all.”

“You’re having another wedding, Grandpa?” Henry asked. “You get married a lot.”

Belle made a high-pitched sort of squeaking sound and Neal laughed. “Henry, we’ve been over this. Grandpa doesn’t get married at his weddings, remember?”

“Why not?”

“Because they’re not for him.”

“Why not?”

“Because...because he…” Neal looked helplessly at his father. “Because he...doesn’t have...anyone to marry.”

Gold sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose.

“What about Cora? She wanted to marry Grandpa. She told me so. She said I should be nice to her because she was gonna be my new grandma. I didn’t like her though.” Henry’s nose wrinkled. “She smelled weird.”

“Okay! We should really get going. Great to meet ya, Belle.” Neal snatched up his son and strode away, Henry grinning and waving over his shoulder.

“Bye, Grandpa! Bye, lady!”

“Bye, Henry,” Belle called. She met Gold’s eyes and blushed, then studied the yellow rose she’d unconsciously pulled from a bunch nearby.

“So, er...roses, camellias, orchids...is there anything more you want?” he asked.

“No, I...I trust you to fill in the rest,” she said quietly. They walked to the market’s exit, silence taut as a wire between them. He wondered why this always seemed to happen to them - they would get along just fine, the peace building between them like blocks being placed on top of each other, and then one sudden movement would tumble everything down and they were left to flounder.

“I didn’t know you had a son,” she said suddenly.

“Aye. His mother and I divorced when he was very young.”

“He looks like you.”

“What?” Gold scoffed. “No, he’s his mother’s boy. Tall, good-looking, that crop of curly hair - that’s all from her side.”

“He has your eyes, though,” she insisted. “And your smile. At least, I think he does.”

“I don’t smile that much, dearie, so how could you possibly know that?”

“I’ve seen your smile,” Belle argued, “and he definitely gets his from you, the way it lights up his eyes and softens his...” Her voice trailed off as she, no doubt, realized what she was saying. Gold felt his heart pounding against his ribcage and he wished he could know exactly what was going on in her head at that moment.

“So that’s the flowers taken care of,” Belle suddenly said, her eyes fixed on a parking meter a few yards away. “Does eight still work for you for tomorrow? For my fitting?”

“Uh...yes. Eight is fine.”

“Great. I’ll see you then. Thank you, Mr. Gold.” She made as if to walk away, but stopped, squared her shoulders and turned to face him. “I’m not going to pretend I didn’t say that, okay? You _do_ have a nice smile.”

“I...ah...thank you.”

She shrugged and looked away again. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“Yeah. Tomorrow.”

* * *

_Tuesday, May 30 - 17 days to go_

Belle’s gown was nearly complete. It was everything he’d hoped, and as Belle had been staring at herself in stunned silence for at least five minutes, he knew she would agree. He fussed around her, checking the length and the evenness of the hem, adjusting the folds of the skirt. Out of the corner of his eye he thought he saw her brush her hand over her cheek, and he gave her a moment to compose herself before turning to look in the mirror fully.

“Do you like it?” he asked her.

“It’s...I don’t even have words to describe it,” Belle said, her voice trembling. “It’s absolutely _perfect_.”

He took a moment to study her reflection, which was somehow less overwhelming than looking at the woman herself. The bodice had been modified from his original design to a scalloped v-neck, which lengthened the neckline. The skirt brushed two inches above her knees, full and flowing, and flaring when she turned on the spot.

“I’m glad you think so,” he said, and she met his eyes in the mirror, answering his smile.

As he stepped around her and made sure all of the pins were in place, he could feel her eyes on him, and he knew questions were bubbling up inside her. Sure enough, after a few moments she shifted her weight and asked,

“Why did you become a wedding planner?”

He pretended to think about the question. “It was something I fell into, more or less. When Ms. Blue hired me, it was solely for in-house alterations, but one of her planners had to drop an account and she was in a bind. I stepped in and discovered that things were - well, a bit of a mess, not to put too fine a point on it. I straightened everything out, threatened a few vendors into coming up to snuff, and made sure the wedding was not a disaster.”

“So Ms. Blue realized you could do more than alter gowns?”

“Oh, no, it was straight back to the workshop for me until that bride’s best friend called and specifically asked after me. That started to happen on a regular basis, and after a few more brides mentioned me by name, Ms. Blue had the bright idea of making me a planner.”

“Very clever of her,” Belle sniffed.

“Wasn’t it?” They shared a grin in the mirror.

“Why did the planner have to drop the account? Was she sick?”

“Oh, sickness is no excuse to drop an account. Tink was nursing a hundred-and-two degree fever when she oversaw the Birkens’ wedding.”

“Then what happened to the other planner? Was she in a coma?”

“No, she ah...she broke the cardinal rule of wedding planning, I’m afraid.”

“And what’s the cardinal rule?”

Gold met her eyes and then looked back down at the floor, his fingers fidgeting with the hem of her dress. “Never fall for the bride or groom. The bride, in her case.”

She was silent for a moment. “Oh,” she finally said. “That’s...that’s terribly sad.”

“Yes, well,” he cleared his throat, “she never made that particular mistake again.”

“Do you like planning?” Belle asked.

Gold sighed and stood back, motioning for her to turn around one last time. “It has its rewards and challenges. It’s certainly never dull.”

“But this is what you really love, isn’t it?” Belle gestured at her dress, and he nodded.

“What we wear - we can choose to express or conceal ourselves fully through our clothes. They can act as armor, or camouflage, or reflection, depending on our intentions.”

“That’s why your gowns are all so incredible, isn’t it?” Belle said thoughtfully. “You tailor them not just to the brides’ measurements, but to their personalities.”

“Aye. A bridal gown ought to be intensely personal, something you would wear only once but remember for a lifetime. One should be able to look at a bridal gown and know instantly what sort of person would wear it.”

“What kind of person would wear this gown?” Belle asked softly.

“Someone brave and strong.” He swallowed and tried to force himself to stop talking, but his voice had taken on a life of its own. “Gentle and kind. Someone with a sense of adventure.”

Belle was silent for several moments, fingering the material of the skirt. “You see all of that in me?”

“The dress wouldn’t suit you so well, otherwise.”

“But you…” Belle’s voice sounded a bit husky. “You didn’t design this dress for me. I...I found the sketch under your portfolio.”

Gold swallowed and stood quickly, stepping away from her without meeting her gaze. “You can change, now, dearie. I have all I need from you.”

“When did you make that sketch?” she asked, but he could tell by the tremor in her voice that she knew the answer.

He sighed. “That morning. While I was waiting for you to arrive.”

“But you didn’t know I was a bride.”

“No. I didn’t.” When she said nothing more, he cleared his throat and moved to stand behind her, unzipping the dress briskly and then turning away again. “You’ll be able to pick it up on Monday. We’ll have you try it on one last time, and barring any horrible mishaps, you’ll take it home.”

“Right. Okay.” He heard her move toward the screen. “I’m meeting with the officiant on Friday to finalize the ceremony and vows. Do you need to come with me, or can we send you a copy of everything?”

“A copy will do,” he said gratefully. _Anything_ to avoid another intimate outing.

“Great. Then I guess I’ll see you Monday.” She strode out the door, and Gold adjusted the gown on the dress form and then, after a moment’s thought, sat down to spin. Restless energy was humming through him, and he needed to clear his head.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Gaston in this story is modeled more after Fran in the Wedding Planner movie than Gaston in either BatB or OUAT. He's a good guy, just not right *for Belle* and neither of them has realized that's true yet. I think Belle is starting to get an inkling, though...
> 
> **I know I'm dating myself with the Gay-Straight Alliance, but that's what we had back in the day. My college had a GSA and another group called United Through Diversity, and in a conservative little town in a conservative little state, that was a VERY BIG DEAL. I have purposely avoided setting this story in any recognizable city, so I hope it works, story-wise.
> 
> *spoilers for my own fic if that's possible!*
> 
> Some of you may be thinking, "WHAT? What about the drunken meltdown??? I WANNA SEE GOLD SLOPPY AND BELLE TAKING CARE OF HIM!!!" Oh, worry you not. It's coming. *rubs hands in anticipation*


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Gold has a bad day.

“Gold,  _ please _ .” Tina folded her hands in front of her and fixed him with a beguiling, wide-eyed stare.

“I’m a busy man, dearie, and I have my own wedding to take care of.”

“Come on, I know you. You have everything squared away by now, you always do. It’s such a  _ tiny _ favor! Just go to the courthouse and pick up the license for me!”

“Why, exactly, can’t you go to the courthouse yourself?”

“Because one of my  _ other _ brides called me yesterday and is freaking out because she just found out her sister is pregnant and she needs to change the bridesmaid dresses but her college roommate refuses to wear empire waistlines and…”

“Oh, for God’s sake, be quiet,” Gold sighed. “I’ll go, a’right?”

“Thank you! You’re the best!” Tina clapped her hands and dashed out of his office, nearly knocking Jefferson to the ground as he came in.

“What’s up with Tinker Bell?” he asked.

“Don’t call me that!”

Jefferson chuckled and closed Gold’s office door. Gold raised his eyebrows. “Something on your mind?”

“I’ve found the perfect location for our shop!”

“ _ Our _ shop? I thought I was running the shop and you were working for me.”

“Semantics.” Jefferson waved a hand. “It’s not far from your house, it’s got plenty of space, and the rent’s more than reasonable. Wanna go see it?”

“Another time. Apparently I have to go to the courthouse and pick up the license for Tina’s wedding.”

“Oooh, yes, I heard about the bridesmaid dress kerfuffle. The bride’s sister is being ridiculous: everyone looks fabulous in empire waistlines.”

“You are, of course, welcome to go and share that viewpoint.”

“Thanks, I prefer to keep my head on my shoulders.” Jefferson leaned against the door. “How are things going with the Lefleur-French wedding?”

“Her gown is almost complete, and all that’s left is for the final payments to be made.”

“I phrased that question badly. How are  _ you _ doing?”

Gold carefully moved his desk calendar so that it sat flush with the edge of his desk, and then picked up his suit jacket, shaking it once before putting it on and smoothing it down. “Fine.”

Jefferson sighed and ran a hand through his hair. “That’s what I was afraid of.”

“What? I said I was fine.”

“Yeah, I know.” Jefferson crossed his arms. “I guess I was hoping she would turn out not quite as perfect for you as she seemed.”

“I really don’t want to talk about this.”

“Well, you’ve got to do something…”

“No, I  _ don’t _ ,” Gold snapped, and Jefferson blinked. “I don’t need to talk about it. I don’t need to think about it. I just need to get on with my work and get through the next two weeks without humiliating myself.”

“Okay,” Jefferson said slowly. “I didn’t mean to overstep, I’m sorry.”

“If you’d kindly move away from that door, I have an errand to run.”

Jefferson held up his hands and moved to one side, and Gold pushed past him. The boy was wrong, and so was Neal. Talking about this -  _ whatever _ it was - was the very last thing he needed. He had two weeks left, and he would be fine.

He hated how often he had to repeat that to himself.

* * *

Albert Spencer was a cranky old bastard, but at least he was efficient. Gold walked out of the man’s office mere moments after he’d entered it with Tina’s license in hand. He was just passing Judge Midas’s door when it opened and Belle walked out. She stopped in her tracks, her eyes widening, and he bit back a groan. He’d so  _ hoped _ that he wouldn’t have to see her today.

“Mr. Gold, I...I thought you…we did agree copies would do, didn’t we?” she asked.

“We did.” He held up the license he’d collected from Spencer. “I had other business in the building today.”

“Oh, good,” she sighed. “I thought for a moment I’d forgotten an appointment.”

He smiled thinly and made for the door, and she fell into step beside him.

“Is everything to your satisfaction, then?” he asked.

“Yes, everything is fine. Judge Midas was very helpful.”

Gold nodded and opened his mouth to reply, but as he turned to open the door, he came face to face with a dreadfully familiar couple. Henry and Cora Mills stood just inside the courthouse doors, and he stopped short when Cora addressed him.

“Alan. Goodness, it’s been a long time.”

He nodded curtly.

“I hope you’re doing well?” she asked.

“Splendidly.”

“Delighted to hear it.” Cora’s eyes slid past him and lit on Belle, and she glanced back at him.

“I’m Belle French,” Belle said, extending her hand. “Aren’t you Judge Mills?” she asked Henry. “Have you worked a lot with Mr. Gold?”

Henry turned red as he shook her hand and stammered, “Oh, ah, well...not...not as much as…”

“We’re old friends,” Cora said smoothly, baring her teeth in a sharp smile.

“Oh, do let me tell the tale,” Gold said, his hands flexing on his cane. “It really is a  _ fascinating _ story. You see,” he turned to Belle, gesturing to Cora, “Cora here was a seamstress. Not a particularly skilled one, but she was in the right place at the right time and managed to snag  _ quite _ the client in Henry Mills’s fiance. That, at least, was what she told us when she appeared at the agency a few years ago, distraught and in desperate need of help. Her ambition had landed her in a coil, and there was no way she could finish the gown in time for the wedding.”

“Alan, I don’t think…” Cora said, but he silenced her with a glare.

“I agreed to help her, and we began to...well, what would you call it, Cora? I suppose  _ collaborating _ would be the proper phrase. We are, after all, in mixed company.”

Belle blushed and clearly wished she’d never asked, but she seemed rooted to the spot, either from embarrassment or curiosity.

“What were we going to call that shop we were to open, Cora? Golden Hearts, wasn’t it? That was your idea. Well, everything was going along swimmingly until, wouldn’t you know it, Henry Mills rather abruptly called off his own wedding and announced a new engagement - to one Cora Hart.” He smiled wolfishly at the two of them. Henry looked as if he were trying to sink through the floor, but Cora stood tall and firm, her face a mask of haughty composure. “A lowly dressmaker can’t offer a life anywhere near as glamorous as a judge can, after all,” Gold said. “One can hardly blame her for taking the better offer.” He leaned forward on his cane. “Have I left anything out?”

* * *

Everything was horrible and he was going to die.

Gold slouched in the booth, scarcely caring that it was covered in a mysterious oily substance that would no doubt ruin his suit. The bartender was eyeing him uneasily, but as he’d paid for a full bottle of the most expensive Scotch in the place without even batting an eye, Gold suspected he’d have to be a bit drunker - and quite a bit louder - to justify removal, which was fortunate because he wasn’t sure he could walk and he wasn’t ready to try.

After giving the Mills couple that thoroughly deserved dressing-down, Gold had felt about ten feet tall until he happened to catch Belle’s eye. What he’d seen in her gaze still made him shiver with revulsion.

_ Pity _ .

It had been the final straw.

He could suffer through everything else. He could plan a wedding she did not want. He could watch her marry a man she did not love, and who did not seem to love her (at least not in the way he should). He could dress her in the gown he’d designed for her and usher her to the top of the aisle to be paraded to the altar on her father’s arm. He could listen to her pledge her heart and her faith, and watch her walk out of the church as a married woman forever out of reach.

But he could  _ not _ endure this.

And at any rate, who was he trying to fool? The wedding would not put her out of his reach. She was already out of his reach. She probably always had been.

Not that it mattered. Love was weakness. Sickness. He saw it every day, brides and grooms alike, trapped in golden cages they’d wrought for themselves, pretending to be happy and excited at the prospect of sharing living space for a few years before the gilding wore away and revealed the heavy iron bars within which they were imprisoned. Thank God the magic key of divorce was more easily wielded now than it had been in the past.

“Mr. Gold?”

He closed his eyes and groaned at the sound of her voice. Bloody fantastic.  _ Exactly _ what he needed.

“Are you okay?”

“No,” he grumbled. “No, I am  _ not _ okay.”

He heard her slide into the seat across from him and he opened one eye to look at her.

“What the hell are you doing here?” he asked.

She gestured at the bar, where several scantily-clad women were congregated. “Friend’s birthday party. What about you?”

“What does it look like?” He picked up the bottle and splashed another measure of whisky into his glass, pleased when most of it actually ended up inside the glass and not on the table.

“It looks like you’re trying to pickle your liver.” Belle folded her hands on the table and fixed him with a very librarian-like glare. “Did you drink all of that yourself?”

“Yes. I’m drinking alone. I do  _ everything _ alone.” He waved the glass in the air, wincing when a few drops splashed out and onto his sleeve. “What’s the old saying? Always a wedding planner never a...a...wedding?” He frowned. That didn’t sound quite right. “Always a planner, never a plan?” No, that was worse. He shook his suddenly pounding head.

“Okay...yeah, I think you’ve had enough of that,” Belle said. She slid out of her seat and approached him, holding out her hand for the glass.

“Oi, hen, I bloody well paid for this shite,” he snarled, pulling the glass out of her reach.

“Fine.” She crossed her arms. “Take a drink, then.”

He raised the glass to his lips, but there was nothing left. A glance down at his front showed him that he’d managed to spill every last drop on his impeccably tailored jacket and waistcoat. “Bugger me,” he sighed.

Out of the corner of his eye he saw Belle’s shoulders shake. “You get  _ very _ Scottish when you’re drunk,” she said.

“I’m from Glasgow,” he growled. “I’m Scottish  _ all _ the time.”

“Okay. How about we get you home and you can be Scottish there?”

He looked at the whiskey bottle, which was pretty nearly empty. Carefully he reached out, took the bottle, tipped the remainder of the Scotch down his throat, and set the empty bottle down firmly on the table. A little too firmly. The bottle broke, sending little glass shards flying, and Belle jumped back. Gold stared dumbfounded at the neck of the bottle still clenched in his fist.

“You’ve had enough, buddy.” The bartender had hurried over to the booth and was now glaring at him, burly arms crossed. “Time for you to head out.”

Grumbling, Gold placed the bottle neck on the table and scrambled for his cane, pulling himself upright. The world swayed alarmingly, and then something warm and soft was lodged under his left arm. Belle’s hair smelled of roses and it was tickling his chin, and she was sturdier than she looked. They stopped by the bar on their way out so she could say...something...to her friends...he couldn’t understand quite what...and then they were walking out into the cool night air.

A car door opened, he slid into a passenger seat, and then frowned when she appeared in the driver’s seat next to him.

“You’re not Dove,” he said.

“No, I’m not. We look a lot alike, though, so I understand your confusion,” Belle said.

He snickered and looked around him. “This isnae my car,” he observed.

“No, it’s mine.”

“Where’re we going?”

“I’m taking you home.”

Gold leaned back and closed his eyes, but his stomach lurched alarmingly and he sat up straight again, staring out the window. “She’s still married to him,” he said softly. “And the years have...she’s still as beautiful as she ever was.”

The car stopped abruptly. Gold blinked out of his window and recognized his house.

“Ah. Thank you for the ride, Miss French,” he said. He reached for the door.

“I’m make sure you get in okay.”

He nodded in acknowledgement and began to stand, but the pavement tilted beneath his feet and he fell inelegantly back onto his seat. Belle was at his side in a moment, and he swallowed his pride and allowed her to lead him up the walk and to his front door.

“Where are your keys?” she asked.

“Jacket pocket,” he said, and she fished them out and opened the door of his house, helping him inside and kicking the door shut behind them.

“I don’t suppose your bedroom is on the first floor?” she asked.

He shook his head and she maneuvered them into the living room, depositing him safely in his armchair. Before he could quite comprehend what was happening, she’d planted a glass of water on the table next to him, loosened his tie, and untied his shoelaces. She did not, thank God, go so far as to attempt to take any of his clothing off, but she had made it decidedly easier for him to do so. He shrugged out of his jacket and pulled the tie over his head, tossing both carelessly to the floor before slumping back in his chair again. Belle pressed the glass of water into his hand and then sat on the sofa across from him, curling her legs underneath her and watching him with those soft, steady eyes of hers. She said nothing, and the clock on the wall ticked away the seconds until he had no choice but to speak and end the terrible silence.

“I ought to have known,” he said. “She was spending more and more time with him, and she insisted that it was the business, that she was just trying to make sure that everything was as they wished, but I ought to have known.”

“You loved her,” Belle said.

“I did. Perhaps not - not in the right way. I doubt now that we could have made a decent go of it. We’re too much alike, and we bring out the worst in each other; we always have. But…” he sighed again, “she did not love me.”

“I don’t know about that,” Belle said slowly. “The way she looked at you...I don’t think she’s as happy with her husband as she’d like you to think.”

“She should be happy. She got what she wanted: an easy life, a life of wealth and privilege.”

“And what did she lose in the process?” Belle shook her head. “I felt sorry for her.”

He blinked and looked up at her. “Sorry for  _ her _ ?” Perhaps the pity he’d seen in her eyes had not been what he’d thought.

“Of course. To have someone she loved and then to lose him because of her own greed and pride...to settle for someone like  _ him  _ when she could have had  _ you _ ...I’ll bet that decision haunts her.”

He gave her a small smile. “Y’think?”

“I think.”

They smiled at each other for a moment, and then Belle shook her head as if to clear it. “I, uh...I should be getting home.”

“Right, of course.” He rose from his chair, pleased that his legs seemed to be supporting him this time. “I’m sorry for - well - I know I was a bit of a mess.”

“No, you were fine,” Belle said. “I mean...well...a little bit of a mess, but...it’s fine.”

They were at his door now and he opened it, returning the little grin she sent him as she passed him.

“Thank you,” he said.

“You’re welcome. Good night, Mr. Gold.”

“Good night, Miss French.”

He watched as she walked down the path to her car, and then closed the door. He moved back into the living room and picked up the glass of water, downing it one gulp. Bending to collect his jacket and tie, he was pleased when the room spun a little less than it had before.

The knock caught him by surprise and he turned, staring at the door for a moment before limping forward and pulling it open. Belle stood there, her eyes glowing and her lips parted, her breath heaving in her chest. She twisted her hands in front of her.

“Do you ever think about that night in the park?”

“What?”

“I do all the time.”

Gold felt his head start to spin. “I…”

“I’ve known Gaston for years and I don’t know his favorite song, or his most cherished memory, or even what flavor cake he prefers. But you...I know about your aunts and your spinning. I know every flick of your eyes and I know exactly how your mouth twitches when you’re about to smile. It’s been two weeks and it’s like I’ve known you all my life.” She took a small step forward. “Please tell me it’s not just me.  _ Please _ tell me you feel it too.”

He wanted to haul her into his arms and kiss her until they were both breathless. He wanted to drag her into his house and never let her leave. His throat was burning with the words that would keep her here with him forever. He swallowed them down, folded his hands over his cane, and drew himself up to his full height.

“Get out.”

She flinched as though he had shouted at her, though he’d spoken as softly as he could. “What?”

“I said. Get. Out.”

Her lips trembled and tears pooled in her eyes. “But…”

“I know exactly what this is, dearie. You’ve got cold feet.”

“No, I…”

“Yes. You want out, or  _ think _ you do, so you’re looking to me to give you a reason to leave. Won’t work.”

“That’s not…”

“You are a nervous bride who has discovered what a good  _ listener _ I am. So  _ calm _ and  _ patient _ . It’s happened before though, I admit, not to me.”

Her eyes were huge, a flicker of anger banked low behind them.

“If you want to marry him, marry him. If you don’t, don’t. But I won’t be your scapegoat. I won’t be the fling you had that made you realize you weren’t ready for marriage, and I  _ most definitely _ will not be the monster who seduced the bride and sent her sobbing back to her true love.”

“What if I don’t want any of that?” she asked, her voice strong despite her tears. “What if all I want is you?”

He bared his teeth in a sarcastic grin. “Now  _ that _ would be a first,” he growled.

To his astonishment, her breathing hitched and her eyes darkened and - yes, that was unmistakable lust in her expression. For a wild moment he thought she was going to launch herself at him. He thought he would probably let her.

She took a step forward and he flinched, and the heated look in her eyes was doused. “I-I’m sorry, I…”

“Go,” he ground out. “Make up your mind. Marry him or don’t. But whatever you choose, stay the hell away from me.”

He closed the door in her face.


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Gold has yet another unexpected conversation, and Gaston proves he's not quite as dumb as everyone thinks he is.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Time and inspiration have not been on my side, but at least this fic is cooperating unlike SOME I could name. *glares* So it gets an unscheduled update and the other fics can sit in the corner and think about what they've done (or not done, I guess.)

_Saturday, June 3 - 13 days to go_

When Gold awoke the next morning, he did not at first remember what had happened the night before. The pounding in his head was a hint, but it wasn’t until he saw his jacket and tie still thrown across the chair and the glass of water sitting on the end table that his memories came crashing back. With a groan, he fished his phone out of his jacket pocket and dialled Jefferson.

“‘Lo?”

“Bucket.”

“Rumple? It’s only eight-thirty.” Jefferson didn’t bother to mask his yawn. “What’s going on?”

“Would it be at all possible for you to finish Miss French’s wedding gown?”

“What?” Jefferson sounded fully awake now. “Why?”

“It would be unwise for us to work together any further,” Gold said, rubbing at his aching forehead.

“Ah. I see.” Jefferson was silent for a moment. “Of course, Alan. I’ll take over from here. You’ve still got everything else, right?”

“Yes, I…” Gold broke off as someone began pounding on his front door. “One moment, Jefferson, there’s someone…”

“Goldie? Are you there?”

“Is that Lefleur?” Jefferson asked in a hushed voice. “Aces and spades, Rumple, what did you _do_?”

“Nothing!” Gold hissed. “I have to go.”

“Don’t hang up! What if you need a witness?”

“A witness?”

“In case he’s there to…”

Growling, Gold rang off and approached the door. Gaston’s bulky silhouette hovered, distorted through the wavy glass, and for a moment Gold regretted not taking Jefferson’s advice. He was most definitely no match for Gaston physically. But the boy’s voice did not sound angry, so he opened the door carefully just as Gaston raised his fist to knock again.

Gold tried not to stare. The groom-to-be looked _terrible_ , a day’s worth of stubble peppering his jaw and his eyes bloodshot and ringed with dark circles.

“Mr. Lefleur, what can I do for you?” he asked. “Weren’t you supposed to be in Tokyo for another week?”

“Yeah, I came back early.” Gaston shifted on his feet. “Can I come in?”

“Of course.” Some of the tension left his body as he stepped aside. A jealous, irate fiance would not ask for permission to enter. Whatever this was about, his secret did not appear to be it. Gaston paced the perimeter of the living room, bouncing on the balls of his feet and occasionally running a hand through his hair. “Is everything alright?” Gold asked at last.

“No,” Gaston said. “No, it’s not.” He stopped pacing and looked at Gold, his eyes wide and wild. “I can’t do this. I can’t get married.”

Ah. The “cold feet” speech. _This_ Gold could handle. “Of course you can,” he said soothingly. “I know it seems intimidating, but marriage is a rich, rewarding experience.”

“I was sitting there in this board meeting in Tokyo.” Gaston did not appear to have heard him. “I was supposed to be listening to a presentation and giving feedback but all I could think about was this wedding, and Izzy, and...I mean, Izzy’s great but...is she _the one_ ? The only woman I’m ever going to want to be with for the rest of my life? Did you know she reads _all the time_ ?” Gaston began pacing again. “I don’t mean when she’s got nothing else to do, I mean _constantly_. While she’s cooking. While she’s vacuuming. While she’s eating, and while she’s brushing her teeth, and while she’s walking. The only reason she doesn’t read and drive at the same time is because she hasn’t figured out how to do it without, y’know, dying.”

Gold felt the corners of his mouth give an unwilling twitch.

“And she’s a terrible singer. I mean she is _awful_ , and she sings in the shower and it sounds like a million nails on a chalkboard. And those crazy shoes of hers - I don’t think she even owns a pair of tennis shoes and it’s like, what kind of person wears heels _all the time_?”

“Mr. Lefleur…”

“And the sex is good, don’t get me wrong, but…”

“Mr. Lefleur, _please_.” Gold raised his voice.

“Oh. Sorry.” Gaston stopped and suddenly collapsed in an armchair, his head in his hands. “What do I do?”

“First of all, there is no such thing as the perfect woman,” Gold said calmly, taking a seat on the sofa. “Or the perfect man, for that matter. Everyone has flaws, and you will always find something to annoy you, no matter who the person is.”

“It’s not just that stuff,” Gaston said, cutting Gold off. “I was thinking about - when we went to the vineyard. Remember? And Izzy got lost? I didn’t even notice. For a second it was almost like I forgot she was there. It shouldn’t be like that, should it? We were touring the place for our _wedding_ and I forgot about her.” Gaston scrubbed a hand through his hair, causing it to stand up on end. “And I started thinking about it some more and...she hasn’t liked _any_ of the decisions we made. She went along with it because she’s the sweetest person alive, but she hated the park. And she doesn’t like jazz, either, and I know the five hundred guests were freaking her out and it just occurred to me that she doesn’t like _any_ of this stuff. And...and so I started trying to picture what _she_ would do for a wedding and I...I...I couldn’t.” He looked up at Gold, his eyes lost and sad. “I don’t even know what flavor cake she likes.”

“She bought the hazelnut cream,” Gold said, as if that would solve anything.

“Was that the one she liked best?”

 _No_. Gold opened his mouth and then closed it again. Gaston sighed. “I didn’t think so.”

“She wants you to be happy,” Gold said.

“Well, I’m not. And neither is she.” Gaston stood again. “I have to go talk to her.”

“Don’t be hasty, son,” Gold said, rising. “If you love her, and you throw away the chance to be with her, you will most certainly regret it.”

“See, that’s the thing,” Gaston said. “I’m not sure I _do_ love her. Not like I should.” He stuffed his hands in his pockets. “And I’m not so sure she loves me.”

Gold was speechless.

“I need to go,” Gaston said. “Thanks for the talk.” The young man strode from the house, and Gold ran a shaking hand through his hair.

 _That_ had been unexpected.

* * *

_Monday, June 5 - 11 days to go_

Gold limped to his office at eight o’clock, trying very hard not to think about the fact that in an hour, Belle would be downstairs in his studio trying on her completed wedding gown. No doubt by now she and Gaston had resolved their issues and agreed to go ahead with the wedding. She would hand Jefferson the check signed by her future in-laws and walk out with the dress bag over her arm. In a week and a half she would say her vows and that night the two of them would whisk off on their glamorous honeymoon…

He stopped short just inside his door, blinking. Esther Blue sat at his desk, her face a calm mask, her eyes glinting malevolently.

“Ms. Blue,” he said, turning to push the door closed. It did not quite latch, but that was the least of his worries. “What can I do for you this morning?”

“You can give me an explanation,” Esther said primly, folding her hands in front of her. “I received a phone call from Thibault Lefleur yesterday evening. The Lefleur-French wedding has been cancelled.”

Never in his life had Gold been more grateful for his cane. His head swam and he thought he might faint. “Surely…there must be some mistake.”

“Mr. Lefleur asked me to make sure all reservations were cancelled, and to salvage what deposits I could.” Esther pressed her lips together. “The payment for our services is, of course, nonrefundable, but this will still represent a substantial loss in revenue, not to mention our standing with many of our vendors. Do you have any idea what caused this change of heart?”

“I…” His heart was pounding against his rib cage, and he could scarcely hear his own thoughts. “I knew that both the bride and groom were harboring some doubts, but…”

“You _knew_?” Esther stood, and although her expression did not change, he could feel anger radiating off of her like the heat of a flame. “What did you do to salvage the situation?”

“What I always do,” he defended himself. “I’ve never had a cancellation before, you know that.”

She narrowed her eyes and studied him. “Perhaps you were growing complacent, then. Perhaps you were thinking too much of that shop you plan to open and neglecting your duties here.”

“No, of course not! I’ve lived and breathed this wedding from the first meeting,” Gold snapped. “I’ve taken considerable time from my personal schedule and bent over backwards to make sure that everything was exactly as they wished it. If, in the end, Belle and Gaston decided marriage was not for them…”

“ _Belle_ and _Gaston_ ?” Esther’s eyes narrowed to slits. “Surely you mean _Miss French_ and _Mr. Lefleur_.”

“I...ah…”

“Were you _friends_ with these clients, Mr. Gold? Did you _bond_ with them? Did you, perhaps, develop a _tendre_ for one of them?”

Gold stared helplessly at her, and she shook her head.

“I suppose there is nothing to be done now,” she said. “I will have to think very carefully before I assign you your next contract, however.”

“My next contract? There _is_ no next contract!” Gold exclaimed. “We agreed…”

“Yes, we agreed that after this wedding, we would go our separate ways. As there is to be no wedding, our agreement is null and void.”

“But you got the contract. You were paid for services; you just said that was nonrefundable,” Gold said, spreading his hands. “Anything beyond that is out of my control. I can’t _force_ people to get married if they decide against it!”

“You’d be surprised what people can be _persuaded_ to do,” Esther said coldly. “I’d have thought you’d learned that by now.”

“You can’t do this,” Gold said weakly. “I upheld my end of the bargain. You have to let me go.”

“Oh, do I?” Esther smiled. “It was a verbal agreement, Gold. You are still my employee. If you attempt to leave my employ, not only will I make certain that you receive no pension or severance pay, I will ensure you never work in this town again. I have considerable influence, you know. What on earth will brides want with an ex-pawnbroker with a questionable legal history?”

Gold began to feel that he really might faint. “You can’t…”

“I can.” She studied her immaculate manicure. “Consider your position carefully before you make any hasty decisions.” She walked from behind his desk and headed for his office door. Pulling it open, she gave a gasp, and he turned to see Gaston Lefleur leaning against the frame, his arms crossed and his eyebrows raised.

“Wow,” he said. “You sure do hear some interesting things in a wedding planning agency.”

“Mr. Lefleur,” Esther said sweetly, “what a pleasant surprise. Dare I hope that you and Miss French have reconsidered and will be celebrating your marriage with us after all?”

Gaston snorted. “Nope, still not getting married. Thanks for the offer, though.” He glanced past Esther and met Gold’s eyes, then grinned very slowly. “I don’t guess you know what I do for a living, Ms. Blue?”

“You’re a partner in your father’s law firm,” she said immediately. “The firm has quite the reputation; your father must be very proud.”

“Oh, he is. Do you know what area I specialize in?”

Neither of them had any idea. Gold knew that they had international clients, and that the firm had several partners with various specialties, but what Gaston himself did he didn’t know. He scolded himself for this lack of research.

Gaston’s smile grew. “Contract law,” he said.

Esther had frozen in place, and Gold could just imagine the look on her face. He wondered where Gaston was going with this, and wished he knew a little more about the legal system in general.

“I’m pretty curious about this contract Mr. Gold is under,” Gaston continued. “What are the terms, exactly? Did he get a chance to run it by a lawyer before he signed it?”

Esther was silent; behind her, Gold shook his head. “I - I couldnae afford a lawyer at the time,” he said.

“Hmm. Interesting. So...what _are_ the terms?”

“That is none of your business.” Esther had apparently regained her voice. She stood a little taller, straightening her shoulders.

“You’re right, it’s not. My mistake.” Gaston straightened and walked past her to Gold. “Hey, Goldie, how’s it goin’?” he said, holding out one hand. Bemused, Gold shook it. “Hey, weird question, but any chance you need some legal advice?”

“Ah...I’m afraid my circumstances are a bit straitened at the moment,” Gold said. “I’ve put a down payment on a commercial space, you see, and…”

“No problem. For you, I’d work _pro bono_. You were pretty great to Belle and me. Or if you’re uncomfortable with that, we can set up a payment plan.”

“I, uh...yes. Alright.”

“Great.” Gaston turned back to Esther and crossed his arms. “I’m his lawyer now. So? What are the terms of the contract?”

Esther pursed her lips.

"Aw, that’s okay. I’ll guess.” He jerked a thumb at Gold. “This guy’s not from around here. Maybe he snuck in, maybe he overstayed a visa. Doesn’t really matter. You hired him and paid for his green card, and he owes you for that. Maybe for some other stuff too. You told him if he got my wedding contract you’d call it even.” He glanced at Gold over his shoulder. “How am I doing?”

Gold nodded.

“Cool. Okay, so you know it’s illegal to indenture people, right?” Gaston said to Esther. “Like, super, _super_ illegal.”

“Mr. Gold is not an indentured servant,” Esther said stiffly. “He is a private contractor.”

“Uh-huh. So all that stuff I just heard - threatening to withhold his pension and severance even with proper notice, threatening to blacklist him - none of that was coercive, huh? You definitely weren’t planning on punishing him for leaving the company?”

Esther was silent.

“Good. Glad I misunderstood. ‘Cause y’know, things could get _really_ ugly if I thought you were blackmailing, threatening, coercing, or otherwise mistreating my client.” He looked around the office. “I wonder how many other workers here have the same - uh - _agreement_ you and Mr. Gold have.”

Esther’s face went white. “None,” she said quickly. “Mr. Gold was...a special case.”

“Hmm. Good to know. Because getting arrested for something like indentured servitude would _really_ put a damper on your profits.” He looked back at Gold. “I think Ms. Blue here has some important things to do all of a sudden. Mind if I stick around? We can talk about that payment plan.” At Gold’s nod, Gaston grinned. “Great. See ya around, Ms. Blue. We’ll be in touch.”

Esther opened her mouth as if to argue, glared at Gold, and then turned and scurried out of the office. Gaston closed the door behind her and then turned to face Gold, who was staring at him in disbelief.

“I gotta admit, that was kinda fun,” he said. “You okay?”

Gold nodded once and then, to his horror, felt a lump form in his throat. “I, uh...I can’t…”

“What’d I say, Goldie? _Pro bono_. Look, I can’t stay long. I just wanted to thank you for everything you did for me and Belle. Our break-up wasn’t your fault - you were a champ.”

“Belle?” Gold asked.

“Uh, Izzy. I stopped calling her that because she…”

“...prefers Belle,” Gold murmured.

Gaston looked at him strangely. “Uh...yeah. Anyway, we talked on Saturday and agreed to call it quits. Our parents were pretty disappointed, but we know it’s the right choice.”

“And you and Belle - are you…”

“We’re okay.” Gaston shrugged. “I mean, there were some things that kinda hurt to hear, but we were honest with each other, and that’s what counts. She’s still my best friend, and I know they say you should marry your best friend, but...I don’t think she’s the best best friend I’ll ever have. If that makes any sense.”

Gold nodded, wondering what on earth she’d told him. _If_ she’d told him.

“Anyway, so Belle’s gonna go on our honeymoon - those are the only reservations I asked Ms. Blue not to cancel.”

“She’s always wanted to see the world,” Gold said without thinking.

Gaston gave him another strange look. “Yeah. You guys got to know each other pretty well while I was gone, huh?”

Gold looked away to hide his reddening face. “Occupational hazard, I’m afraid.”

“Uh-huh.” Gaston was quiet for a moment, and Gold could feel the boy’s eyes on his back as he hung up his suit jacket. “Hey, just out of curiosity...remember that date you went on a couple weeks ago? What movie did you see?”

“ _The Good, the Bad and the Ugly_ ,” Gold said. “Why does that…”

“Holy shit,” Gaston said. “You’re the movie guy.”


	11. Chapter 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Gold has a few strange conversations, and thinks that finally, FINALLY things might start to go his way for once.

“The...movie guy?” Gold asked weakly.

“Belle told me,” Gaston said. He sounded slightly stunned. “I mean, she didn’t tell me it was  _ you _ , but she told me she...met someone.”

“That could be true of anyone, Mr. Lefleur.”

“Anyone who likes Westerns and knows more about my fiance than I do, sure. But that’s a pretty short list.” After a brief silence, during which Gold still couldn’t quite muster the courage to look his former client in the eye, Gaston huffed. “So...this isn’t a thing for you, is it? Getting all cozy with…”

“No!” Gold exclaimed, startled into meeting the younger man’s stare. “It wasn’t... _ we _ weren’t...it was...just a movie.” Gaston crossed his arms, and Gold’s hand twitched on his cane. “You’ve no reason to believe me, but...nothing happened. It didn’t...mean anything.”

“I saw you two days later,” Gaston said flatly, “and you were still all moony over her. And when you met her as Izzy you didn’t say anything. If it didn’t mean anything, why lie?”

Gold sighed and pushed one hand through his hair. “It seemed...impolitic to mention it. You clearly didn’t know, and it wasn’t...my place.”

“Right. Why would the wedding planner want to talk to the bride and groom about their relationship? Totally not your business at all.”

“My job was to get you married.”

Gaston raised his eyebrows, and something in Gold snapped. He was so damn  _ tired _ of pretending, of acting like he hadn’t hated every moment of the last two weeks, of smiling and nodding and carrying around the weight of a secret that was, apparently, a secret no longer. And after all, what could the boy do to him now? Fire him?

“Fine,” Gold growled. “It  _ wasn’t _ nothing. I liked her, a’right? I had every intention of seeing her again until she appeared as  _ your _ fiance.” He stalked around the desk and approached Gaston, his temper bubbling when the boy merely looked back at him, a faint smirk on his face. “It drove me crazy, watching you bulldoze your way through this wedding, ignoring what very few suggestions she felt comfortable making. She nearly cried at the cake tasting because she didn’t know what you wanted. She damn near passed up her dream wedding dress because it wouldn’t match the theme  _ you’d _ decided on.” He took a deep breath, feeling a bit of savage satisfaction in the way the light in Gaston’s eyes had dimmed somewhat and his smirk faded. “That day at the vineyard? She didn’t wander off the path. She was  _ pulled _ off of it by the groundskeeper and very crudely propositioned, and you were so busy ogling the proprietor you didn’t even notice she was  _ gone _ .” Gaston’s eyes widened and he tried to interrupt, but Gold held up one hand. “She’s been miserable every moment, and I was the one who saw it all, who was dressing her for the moment she would walk down that ostentatious aisle in that gigantic park in front of five hundred strangers and promise to love, honor, and cherish you until death did you part. So you’ll  _ forgive me _ ,” he finished with a sneer, “if I’m not exactly keen to discuss her with you.”

“Easy,” Gaston said quietly. “I know I was a jerk, okay? But I didn’t do anything to deserve the two of you sneaking around behind my back.”

“We weren’t  _ sneaking around _ ,” Gold snapped. “ _ Nothing _ …”

“... _ happened _ .” Gaston shook his head. “You both keep saying that, but it’s not true, is it? Something definitely happened. Maybe nothing major - like, I know you didn’t get physical or anything - but  _ something _ . We wouldn’t be standing here otherwise, would we? We’d be laughing about the coincidence and moving on.”

An image of Belle’s tear-streaked face and glowing eyes swam in Gold’s head for a moment and he blinked. “I…”

“You fell for her, didn’t you?”

Gold rolled his eyes. “I thought we’d established that.”

“No, I mean you  _ fell _ for her. You’re in love with her.”

Taking a deep breath, Gold prepared to deny it, but one look at Gaston’s face told him that would be fruitless. “Yes,” he said.

There was a moment of silence, and then Gaston started to chuckle. “Man, this is the weirdest conversation I’ve ever had.” The chuckles turned to genuine laughs, and Gold couldn’t help a small smile despite everything. Twenty years in this business, and he’d never had a conversation quite like this one.

When Gaston’s laughs died down, the silence in the office seemed much less thick and thorny, and Gold breathed a little more easily. The boy didn’t seem as if he were about to threaten to sue him for breach of contract or blacken his name in the business, and if he could just convince him to leave before he asked anymore awkward questions…

“So what now?”

Like that one.

“What do you mean?” Gold asked.

“Belle made it sound like you weren’t into her, but obviously you are, so…

“What exactly did she tell you?” Now that it seemed she hadn’t divulged the worst of their secrets, he was less wary of what she’d said.

“That she’d met someone she liked a little too much, considering she was supposed to be marrying me, and that she’d seen him since but ‘nothing happened.’” Gaston punctuated the last two words with air quotes, and Gold rolled his eyes. “And she said the guy didn’t want her but she knew calling it quits was the right thing to do. Why does she think you don’t want her?”

“Perhaps because you were my client and I wasnae exactly broadcasting my feelings for all to see?” Gold asked dryly.

“Oh. Yeah, I guess that makes sense.” Gaston scratched his head. “But since you do…”

“No,” Gold said quickly.

“Wait. You don’t?”

“Don’t be daft, of course I do. But she doesn’t.”

“She...doesn’t? How do you…”

“Well, for one thing, if  _ you’re _ her type, I  _ most definitely _ am not,” Gold pointed out. “For another, she...she was unhappy. And I was...there.”

“So?”

“It wasn’t  _ real _ .”

Gaston shrugged. “Look, I’m obviously no expert on Belle’s feelings. I don’t know for sure that she’s in love with you, but you don’t know for sure that she’s  _ not _ .” He shook his head when Gold made to argue. “Take it from me, man, it’s not a great idea to assume you know how someone else feels.”

That brought Gold up short. The boy had a point. Gaston nodded once when he realized he’d won that round and finally, blessedly, turned to leave.

“Just so you know, I’m not letting this go,” he said as he opened the door. “That Blue chick said some seriously messed up stuff, and I don’t think you’re the only person she’s done this to. If I can scare up some more evidence against her, would you testify?”

Gold began to nod, but then hesitated. “Actually, my daughter-in-law might be of some help,” he said. He scribbled Emma’s name and number on the back of one of his own cards. “She’s a bailbondsperson and she mentioned that she had some information. Mind you, I don’t know how much of it was legally obtained, but perhaps she can at least get you on the right track.”

“Awesome.” Gaston pocketed the card and held out his hand. “Pleasure doing business with you, Goldie. Next time I get married, maybe I’ll look you up.”

“Don’t bother,” Gold said dryly. “If I never plan a wedding again, it’ll be too soon.” He grinned as Gaston walked away, the sound of the younger man’s laughter echoing in the empty lobby.

Alone in his office at last, Gold felt the last of his energy drain away. He slumped in his chair and stared at the open door, watching as his colleagues - soon to be  _ ex _ -colleagues - began to trickle in. Each face came with a name, but Gold realized suddenly that he didn’t actually know any of them. Stefan was from - Italy, perhaps? He had no idea, and never had. Tink’s accent gave her away as Australian, and there were a few other planners and assistants who could have hailed from other lands. He recalled Blue’s threat from a few weeks ago to deport Stefan, and he shuddered. At the time, it had seemed like a joke, but now...how could he be sure?

Gaston, at least, would follow through on his promise to investigate Blue’s business practices. If there was one thing Gold had learned about the boy, it was that he was impossible to shake off when he got an idea in his head, and Belle had intimated that his good intentions and passion for justice were qualities she admired, and Gold hoped she was right. Suddenly simply leaving Fairy Tale Weddings and never looking back wasn’t enough. He wanted Blue to  _ suffer _ .

“Mr. Gold?”

Gold looked up to see that Astrid, Esther’s timid, pleasant assistant, was hovering just outside his door.

“Yes, Miss Novak?”

“Ms. Blue asked me to bring you this.” She entered the room and held out a thick file. Gold took it and flipped through the contents briefly.

“Thank you, Miss Novak,” he said. “I’ll have them ready for her before noon.”

“Are - are you leaving us, Mr. Gold?” Astrid asked, her eyes wide.

“I am.”

“Wow,” Astrid whispered. “I’ve never known anyone to quit Fairy Tale Weddings before!”

Gold paused with his pen over a document. “Never?”

“No! I’ve been Miss Blue’s assistant for ten years. Either people retire or they’re - uh - let go. But no one ever quits.”

“Well, I have,” Gold said. He filed that information away, determined to drop Gaston a line. A business was expected to lose employees occasionally, wasn’t it? He looked up when Astrid still hovered above his desk, her face a picture of nervous solicitude. “Yes?”

“What will you do?”

Gold raised his eyebrows. “Whatever I want to do.”

“Whatever you want,” Astrid sighed. “That sounds  _ wonderful. _ ”

He hesitated, and then took Gaston’s card from the small file on his desk. “Miss Novak, if you need... _ assistance _ of any kind, or perhaps a friendly ear, do give this gentleman a call.”

“Gaston Lefleur? Wasn’t he the groom in the wedding you - I mean - the wedding that got canceled?”

“Yes.”

Astrid’s fingers hovered over the card and she met his eyes, her expression troubled. “Are - are you sure?”

“Absolutely. Tell him Goldie sent you.”

“ _ Goldie? _ ”

“It’s a very long, ultimately uninteresting story.” He gave the card a little shake. “Take it, dearie.”

Her hand trembling a little, Astrid took the card from him and tucked it into her jacket pocket. “I’ll be back at noon for the papers, Mr. Gold. Good luck.”

“Thank you, my dear. The same to you.”

* * *

_ Two Weeks Later _

“Not bad, Rumple. Not bad at all.”

Gold looked up from his draft table to see that Jefferson was turning in a slow circle in the middle of the sales floor, admiring the set. As the shop was for custom couture, the ready-to-wear section was sparse, but a few of the simpler designs he’d created over the years were arranged on mannequins, and he’d had several of the photos of his previous wedding gowns magnified and framed so that they took up most of one wall.

“Do you have it?”

Jefferson grinned and made an elaborate gesture with his arms, beckoning him outside. Rolling his eyes, Gold rose and followed the younger man out to the front of the store, where a large wooden sign leaned against one of the display windows. It was draped in a white sheet, and Gold knew Jefferson had carefully planned this little production.

“Well?”

Jefferson frowned down at his phone and shook his head, holding up one finger. Gold huffed and reached for the sheet, but Jefferson slapped his hand away. “Patience, Rumple!”

“Yeah, Pops, what’s your hurry?” Neal grinned when Gold whipped around to see his family and Jefferson’s daughter Grace walking toward them. “What? Like we’d miss the big unveiling.”

“Golden Hat, though?” Emma asked, wincing. “I mean, no offense, but who in the world is going to go to a dress shop with a name like…” She cut off when Neal elbowed her. “But I mean...I guess those incredible dresses in the window might change their minds.”

“Ye of little faith,” Jefferson said, shaking his finger at her. “I’ll have you know Rumple and I had many a long, intense conversation about just what to name this little enterprise, and we came to an  _ amicable compromise _ .” Off Emma’s disbelieving snort, he added, “Of a sort.”

“Can we please get on with this?” Gold asked. “Unlike some I could mention, I have work to do.”

Jefferson pressed one hand to his heart, his expression wounded, and Gold bit back another sigh. If Gold’s leaving Fairy Tale Weddings had caused a stir, Jefferson’s resignation had caused a positive maelstrom. Unlike Gold, however, Blue had no hold on Jefferson whatsoever, and so he had swanned into her office half an hour after Gold’s paperwork had been filed and given his two week’s notice. Her ire had been something to see, if Jefferson and Astrid were to be believed.

“Alright,” Jefferson said at last, frowning again at his phone. “I suppose we can get on with it. Ladies and gentlemen, boys and girls, it is our distinct pleasure to welcome you all to…” He whipped the sheet off the sign. “The Spinning Wheel!”

Gold blinked. “What...That isn’t what we agreed.”

“I know, but...you were right. Golden Hat was, to use Grace’s words, a dumb name.” Grace giggled when he ruffled her hair. “And anyway, this shop wouldn’t exist without you, so...The Spinning Wheel it is.” He crossed his arms and grinned. “Surprised?”

Gold nodded, an inexplicable lump rising in his throat as he took in the wording on the sign. It was in the shape of a single drive spinning wheel, “The Spinning Wheel” emblazoned on it in elegant script. Below, in smaller letters, were the words “Gold & Bucket.”

“It’ll do,” he said at last. Neal and Emma protested, reassuring Jefferson that the sign was beautiful and would draw in the very best customers, but Gold was distracted by the approach of a large van ambling down the street. The sides of the van were painted with the logo from Game of Thorns, and he wondered where he had heard that name before. The van’s brakes squealed as it pulled up in front of the shop, and the driver leapt out and strode purposefully around to the back of the van. Moments later he emerged with an enormous bouquet.

“Any of you named Gold?” he called.

Dumbstruck, everyone pointed at Gold, though technically nearly all of them could answer to that name.

“Here ya go,” the man said, holding the vase out to Gold, who took it automatically. The van had rattled off down the street before any of them had recovered from their surprise.

“That’s an...interesting combination of flowers,” Neal said, poking at an orange rose. “Weird color choices. Orange and purple?”

“Maybe let him put the flowers down before we grill him about them?” Emma said, brushing past Gold to open the door.

Gold walked into the shop and set down the vase, suddenly wishing that all of them would teleport back to their homes, because he had just remembered that Game of Thorns was the name of Belle’s father’s florist shops, and he would really rather not react to his first contact from Belle in weeks in front of his nosy, dramatic family. Neal and Jefferson were studying the bouquet with very serious expressions, and Emma was watching them, a look of fond exasperation on her face.

“Maybe whoever sent this just thought the flowers were pretty,” she said patiently.

“Nope, no self-respecting florist would combine these flowers for aesthetic,” Jefferson said, pointing out a pink camellia. “These flowers are sending a  _ message _ .”

“So what is it?”

“I don’t remember what orange roses are for,” Neal said thoughtfully. “But we’ve got purple hyacinths - those are for apology - and irises - those are for ...courage?”

“They mean a lot of things,” Jefferson said. “Courage, hope, friendship…”

“And pink camellias, which mean,” Neal looked up and raised his eyebrows at his father, “ _ longing _ .” Gold felt his face heat up. “What are orange roses, Jeff?”

“‘Proud of you.’” Jefferson grinned at Gold, his eyes gleaming. “I know who these are from,” he said in a singsong voice.

“So do I,” Emma said.

“What? How do  _ you _ know?” Jefferson sounded very put out.

She held up a small white envelope. “I found the card.” With a smile she handed the card to her father-in-law. “Who’s Belle?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Holy crap finally. I can't believe I finally finished this chapter. Mostly it was my fault because I was like "NO MUSE YOU MUST WORK ON THIS OTHER STORY" and Muse was like "DON'T WANNA" and I fought it for way too long but no more. From now on, I write what I want to write and to hell with whatever arbitrary schedule I've set for myself.
> 
> I realize there's like no Belle in this and practically no Rumbelle feels, but those are coming, I promise. I felt like Gold deserved a teensy break from the roller coaster ride of the last two weeks.


	12. Chapter 12

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Belle's done the brave thing, and now it's Gold's turn. What will happen when these two crazy kids see each other again?

Gold stared up at the stone facade of the library, trying to muster the courage to enter. Once everyone in the shop had understood who Belle was, there had been no quelling their excitement. In vain had he pointed out that the flowers could simply be a gesture of goodwill.

“Camellias, Rumple,” Jefferson had said flatly.

Perhaps, he’d suggested, Belle had meant to order white camellias and the shop had been out. White camellias symbolize luck, and that would have made perfect sense...

“The daughter of a florist accidentally sent the wrong flowers?” Neal had interrupted, his eyebrows raised. “ _ I _ wouldn’t make that mistake, and I’m just the son of a wedding planner.”

Alright, but they hadn’t parted on the best of terms. There was no reason to think…

“ _ Camellias _ ,” Neal had insisted.

Jefferson repeated the word, and then so did Emma, then Henry and Grace, until it seemed that the five of them were competing to see who could say it loudest. It was impossible to get a word in edgewise, and in the end Gold had given up and walked into the back room, ignoring the fact that Henry and Grace were improvising a song consisting entirely of the word “camellias” sung at different octaves, egged on by Jefferson.

Emma followed him, her eyes bright with sympathy, and he pretended not to notice her until she refused to move out of his path. “So that’s the big secret,” she said. “The movie girl was the bride.”

“Aye.”

“But she’s not a bride anymore.”

“No.”

Emma pursed her lips and tilted her head to one side, studying him. “So...what now?”

“Now I get back to work,” he said. “Or I would, if there wasn’t a bloody concert being held on my salesfloor.”

“So you don’t love her anymore. I guess she wasn’t that special after all...probably just looking for a good time, anyway.”

“What the hell are you talking about?” Gold stared at his daughter-in-law, his jaw dropping open.

“I mean, she comes onto you while she’s engaged, she leads you on…maybe she hoped you’d give her a discount if...”

“Stop,” he growled. “You don’t know her. She wasn’t...it wasn’t...she made a mistake, but…”

“You think? She just happened to go to a movie with her wedding planner and then acted like she’d never met him before? Sounds kind of fishy.”

“She was unhappy and confused, and she made the right choice in the end,” Gold said coldly. “I’d think you’d be a little more understanding,  _ dearie _ , especially as you’ve never met her. Belle would never knowingly hurt anyone - she may be impulsive, but she’s the gentlest soul on earth, and I won’t have you saying such things about her.”

Emma smiled softly. “Yeah, that’s what I thought. You  _ do _ still love her.”

Gold blinked. “I…”

“I don’t know this woman at all, but people don’t usually send flowers to people they don’t like. You should go see her.”

He’d put up a bit more of a fight, but this morning Emma had called every hour to ask if he’d gone to the library yet, and he finally left the shop just to placate her.

Now here he was, trying to remember which was Belle’s day off - he knew Gaston had mentioned it at some point. Someone bumped into him from behind and muttered what might have been an apology, though he doubted it, and he shook his head and stepped forward. Emma was right - even if they meant nothing else, the flowers were a sign that she liked him, at least, and she would not be averse to seeing him. Pausing outside the great wooden doors, he took one last steadying breath and pushed one open.

“Watch the wet...oh. You again.”

Gold turned to see that Leroy the surly janitor was once again stationed by the door with a mop. He nodded once and the man’s eyes narrowed.

“You here to see Belle?”

“I am.”

“She’s reshelving in philosophy. Look,” he said when Gold turned toward the shelves, “you know she’s not getting married anymore, right?”

“Well, as my planning services were dispensed with, I had a suspicion,” Gold said dryly.

“Okay. Just making sure. Seemed like something you might wanna know.”

“Oh? And why’s that?”

Leroy rolled his eyes and resumed mopping, and Gold, after waiting a few minutes, walked away. He had not, after all, come here to converse with custodians.

When he rounded the corner into the philosophy section, he stopped short. Belle was leaning against the shelves near the end of the row, a cart piled high next to her and a heavy book open in her hands. She seemed lost to the world, her lips curved in a slight smile, and he caught his breath. She was every bit as beautiful as he remembered.

Cautiously he took a step forward and said, “‘We may sit in our library and yet be in all quarters of the earth.’”

Belle started and the book fell from her hands with an echoing thud. Her eyes flew to his and she drew in a quick breath. “Alan,” she whispered.

“Hello, Belle.”

“What are you...I mean...it’s good to see you.”

“You, too. How was your...ah...trip?”

She gave a faint smile. “My non-honeymoon, you mean? It was wonderful.”

He stepped forward. “Everything you’d dreamed?”

Her cheeks reddened and she bent to pick up the fallen book, placing it gently on top of the stack on her cart. “Well...not exactly. No one dreams of going on their honeymoon alone.” She nudged the book into place, making sure its spine was flush with the books underneath it. “But I got to see a lot of places I’ve only read about, and…” Her voice trailed off and she looked up to meet his eyes. “Gaston told me you quit.”

“Aye. That was always the plan. One last contract before resignation.”

“I’m sorry it was such a mess.”

He felt the corners of his mouth twitch. “Bit of an understatement, dearie.”

She fought a smile and her eyes sparkled a little. “Yeah, I guess it is.”

They were silent for a moment, and he felt some of his nervousness drain away. “I wanted to thank you.”

“Oh.” Belle blushed again and gave an awkward shrug. “It was nothing, I...I heard you were opening a shop and I know that took a lot of courage…”

“Not for the flowers,” he interrupted, “though they were lovely. I meant…” He stepped forward until he was standing directly in front of her, and she gazed up at him with wide eyes. “Belle, when I met you, I was...well, an enemy of love. I’d seen too many marriages crumble, too many vows broken. I thought I was better off alone. I thought I  _ preferred _ solitude.” He smiled as her eyes grew even wider. “And then you barrelled into my life and...I’d never felt more alive than I did that night in the park. Meeting you as Gaston’s fiance was painful, and planning your wedding to another man was pure torture, but...”

Belle shook her head and took a step back, her face miserable. “I’m so sorry, I…”

“...but I don’t regret it,” he said firmly. “I realized I’d been placing all of the blame on love and marriage, rather than on the people making bad choices. I’d convinced myself that I couldn’t love, that I couldn’t  _ be _ loved, not romantically, and you changed that.”

“But that night,” Belle said, her voice shaking, “you said…”

“I said what I had to say to make you leave,” he confessed. “What you were saying...it couldn’t be real. I was too afraid to believe it was real.”

“And I was your client,” Belle said. “And you were drunk. I was taking advantage. I’m  _ so _ sorry, Alan. I’ve regretted that night more than you can imagine.”

A dagger to his heart could not have been more painful, and Gold took a step back. “Ah,” he said dumbly, feeling the blood drain from his face. “I…”

“No!” Belle exclaimed, her expression horrified. “Not...not what I said! That hasn’t...I mean, the timing of it - I knew I needed to leave Gaston, I’d known since that afternoon when we saw Cora and I thought you still had feelings for her and I was so jealous I could hardly  _ see  _ straight, and...but I should have waited. I should have gone home, broken it off with Gaston, given everyone some time to come to terms with it and  _ then _ ...but I’m impulsive.” She shrugged and looked down at the floor. “I don’t always think about the consequences of my actions, and all I could think about right then was how much I wanted you.”

Gold took a breath and stepped forward again and reached out to touch her cheek, turning her face so that she would meet his eyes. “I wanted you, too. From the moment you knocked the wind out of me and twisted my ankle.”

Belle huffed a laugh and put her hand over his, leaning into his touch. His heart racing, Gold bent down and brushed her lips with his. Belle gave a little start of surprise, but the next moment she slid her arms around his neck and pressed against him, returning his kiss with an intensity that rattled him. When they came up for air, Belle smiled sheepishly at his stunned look. “Sorry, I...I’ve been wanting to do that for a  _ really _ long time.”

“You’re  _ apologizing _ ?” he said. “For  _ that _ ?”

“Well you looked a little shocked and I don’t want to put you off, and…”

He cut her off, this time leaving gentleness behind and pushing her back until she was pressed against the bookshelf. She shuddered when his fingers wound their way into her hair, and she deepened the kiss, inviting him to explore every inch of her mouth. When he pulled away, she looked as stunned as he’d felt, her eyes wide and dark.

They both jumped when someone cleared his throat. Leroy stood at the end of the row, his face twitching with the effort to keep his scowl in place. “Ellen’s looking for you,” he said. “You might wanna finish up here before she starts searching the stacks.”

Belle giggled weakly. “Thanks, Leroy.”

Leroy rolled his eyes and walked away and Belle leaned back against the stacks, smiling almost shyly. “How do you feel about hamburgers?” she asked.

“I’ve been known to enjoy one on occasion.”

“My friend’s grandmother runs a diner - their hamburgers are pretty great. Want to try one when I get off work? Around seven?”

“I’d like that.”

Belle smiled more brightly and pushed away from the shelf. “I really do have to get back to work, but I’ll see you later.”

“I look forward to it.”

Biting her lip, Belle glanced down the row and then swooped up and pressed a final quick kiss to his mouth. “Me too,” she whispered against his lips. It took every ounce of his self control to pull away, but he did. He looked back once as he walked away and saw that she had turned back to her cart of books, her smile wide and her hair a touch disheveled. Smiling to himself, he left the library and pulled out his phone.

Neal answered on the first ring. “How’d it go?”

“Not bad.”

“Not…” There was a sound like a smack, and Gold smirked. “Cut the crap, Pops. What’d she say?”

“She asked me what I thought of hamburgers.”

There was a long pause on the other end of the line, and then, “Is that code for something?”

“Not that I’m aware of.”

There was another pause. “This is payback, isn’t it? For the flower thing.”

“Flower thing?”

“Come on, we’re dying here.  _ What happened _ ?”

“We?”

“Hey, Rumple.” Jefferson sounded a bit as if he were standing in a cave. “Didn’t Neal mention he put you on speakerphone?”

“I’m hanging up.”

“Fine.” Gold could practically hear Neal grinding his teeth through the phone. “But when you get here tonight, watch out. We’ll get it out of you somehow.”

“Oh, can’t make it, I’m afraid.”

“You can’t? Because you have a date?” Neal’s voice had risen nearly an octave, and Gold chuckled.

“Goodbye, Neal.”

“Papa!”

Gold rung off and stood motionless on the sidewalk for a moment, thinking, and then headed for Dove and his car. He had a date to prepare for.


End file.
